


Every Touch

by bleebug



Series: "Every Letter" AU Series [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Emma POV, F/M, Killian POV, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Sexual Fantasy, Sexual Tension, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2017-06-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 07:50:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8136089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleebug/pseuds/bleebug
Summary: Killian and Emma have been craving each other's touch for as long as they've been in love with each other. Neither have been able to fight their lascivious fantasies for years. Will the real deal measure up? (A smutty addition to the "Every Letter" story. Takes place during various chapters.)





	1. Chapter 1

London, 2002.

 

It was wrong. _Really_ wrong. He knew that. He accepted it. But that didn’t mean he had the willpower to stop himself.

Emma Swan was an incredibly beautiful woman. He didn’t need different lighting or various angles to see that. The one photo was enough.

Gods. Long, wavy blonde tresses, irises the color of spring, a smile that could knock a man straight on his arse. (He would know.) And, perhaps unintentionally, she’d also revealed just a hint of cleavage, peeking out from the V of her low neckline.

The woman _owned_ him and she didn’t even know it. He’d hoped after his rather risky response to receiving it that there might be a chance for their relationship to escalate somehow. But it must have been wishful thinking. Or maybe she just didn’t know how to take a compliment.

In any case, over the past few months he had been practically glued to the bloody picture. Will and Robin teased him relentlessly, but they had eyes, too, right? It’s not like they could really fault him for staring. She was, objectively, a stunning specimen of a woman. His bias didn’t really have any bearing on that. (Though he did admit that if she _hadn’t_ been this attractive, it would have made no difference to him. He’d have loved her all the same. Honestly, this was just a _huge,_ unexpected bonus.)

Henry, as sweet and adorable as he was with his chubby cheeks and wispy bangs pushed to the side under his pirate-themed knitted cap, was currently covered up with a yellow sticky note. Because while Killian could apparently stand the idea of wanking to his best friend without her knowledge, he absolutely could _not_ let even the image of her boy be subjected to the sight. (Besides, he certainly didn’t need a child’s eyes judging him for partaking in an act that he already knew he shouldn’t be doing.)

He was huddled into his bathroom, desperate for release but well aware that his mates were not really ones for knocking, just barging into his room without warning. He’d turned on the shower just to drown out any noises he might make, settling on the closed seat of the toilet and grasping at the photograph as he palmed himself through his pants.

He released a low growl, trying to keep his voice down, as he thought of how she might feel.

Were her lips as soft and succulent as he imagined? How would it feel to dip his tongue into her mouth, heatedly slanting his lips over hers? How would it feel to have those plush, pink lips wrapped firmly around his cock? Would she be hesitant in her explorations, giving him the opportunity to guide her and whisper his desires, or would her talented tongue leave him with no composure or grace, taking him to the brink with ease as he could do nothing but moan her name?

He groaned, setting her picture down so he could quickly undo his fly and shimmy his pants and boxers down to his thighs. He hissed as his bare backside came into contact with the chilled porcelain of the toilet lid, but quickly adjusted to the change.

His left hand wrapped loosely around his cock, now free and pressing up against the taut skin of his stomach, as he scrambled to retrieve the photo with his right hand. His eyes darted across her features and took in every little detail. Gods, he wanted to brush her hair back, to feel the silky smoothness slide through the gaps between his fingers. He wanted to trace those lovely lashes with his fingertips, then his lips. He wanted to frame her face with his hands and pull her into him as he ravished her mouth with his, both breathing through their noses as their lips and tongues danced together in a passionate tango.

His wrist was slack as he slowly dragged his palm and fingers over himself, trying to imagine a smaller hand in its place. Perhaps her hands were colder than his own, her nails longer. Maybe she’d use both at once, grasping the base and lifting firmly as her other rubbed delicate circles into the head.

He wondered what she smelled like. Did she wear perfume? Was it floral and light? Earthy, musky? Did she just smell of her body wash? Certainly it would be something delicious and warm, like vanilla or coconut. She was sure to smell like heaven, regardless.

His hand shifted, fingers tightening over his length as he sped up his movements, gasping and grunting quietly as he painted an image of her – this gorgeous woman in the photo – emblazoned with passion and want, eager for him, aching for his touch.

He would bury his nose in her hair, then nudge it over her neck, kissing red marks down her breasts. He’d have her panting and writhing beneath him, her pale, pretty skin shimmering with sticky sweat while at his mercy. He’d roll the tip of his tongue around her pink – or maybe they were darker, a reddish caramel? – nipples. He’d set them into quivering peaks with his attentions, then ease back and carry his ministrations downward. He’d pepper kisses against the soft skin of her stomach, his fingers dancing across her ribs and down her sides, finally settling at her hips as he reached the apex of her thighs. Then he’d breathe his desire over her, inhaling her unique scent.

Would she be bare? Would she have a delicate patch of soft, blonde curls right above where she needed him? Maybe she was one for grooming, making the effort to maintain a well-trimmed heart or oval or strip of hair above her most intimate parts. He didn’t know which of these things he’d love most. However she looked, he’d want her.

And then he’d taste her.

He hummed as he cupped the head of his cock and swirled, letting her picture fall to the bathroom countertop beside him as his eyes fell shut, already so deep into his fantasy that he didn’t need it to conjure up a perfect likeness of her in his mind’s eye.

He would take his time with her, tongue sliding across her wet folds, dipping inside of her, licking and sucking at her clit to give her all the pleasure he could. He’d _worship_ her like the bloody goddess she was. His thumbs would roll into the skin over her hips, then he’d let his hands wander down, gripping her lovely arse before bringing them inward and pressing her thighs open as wide as they’d go. He’d relish in the easy access, flattening his tongue and licking a long stripe over her.

Her voice… would it be high and feminine as she begged him for more? Or would she hum lowly, just gasping and sighing with each movement? Would she speak to him to urge him on, whispering dirty things just to rile him up? (He wished he knew what she sounded like. He wished he didn’t have to conjure up some generic version, an average fashioned from the voices of countless American actresses that he’d heard on TV over the years.) 

He sucked in a breath, feeling his arousal pulsing with every new thought of her splayed out below him.

Oh, but she’d be bewitching if she were above him, as well. She’d be a true vision, her hair falling around them both like a curtain, jade eyes gazing down at him with lust – with _love_ – as her hips circled around, taking him deeper with each of his measured upward thrusts. 

“Gods… _Emma_ ,” he moaned, voice gravelly and coming out in breathy pants now as he gripped the edge of the counter for purchase, his hand still firmly curled around his throbbing cock. “So good.”

He imagined what it might look like to see himself sliding in and out of her tight, lithe body. His cock would glisten, wet and dripping with her arousal, pumping relentlessly into her as he grasped her thighs for leverage. And she would be absolutely magnificent. She’d gasp and moan and hum every time their hips met, her fingers massaging her breasts or raking through his chest hair, her open mouth encouraging him to sweep his tongue against hers.

He was close. He could feel his toes and fingers prickling with his oncoming orgasm and he growled and breathed harshly as he worked himself towards it. It was the image of her gasping and spasming her peak that finally did him in, short spurts of his release coating his abdomen and hand, the sticky white fluid still warm.

And then he slumped in place, his right hand falling from the counter only to reach up and tangle in his mess of hair.

As he came down from his high, his rapid heartbeat settling and breathing becoming steadier, he peeled his eyes open and looked down at himself.

He was utterly disgusting. A total pig.

Emma didn’t deserve to have her best friend, her only confidant, beating off to her in secret. Loving her was one thing, but treating her like this was really unacceptable. He wished he could just take it back. And he desperately hoped she’d never learn of his indiscretions.

He took advantage of the nearby shower, stripping quickly and then turning the dials from cold to hot as he stepped in to clean himself. Physically, at least. It would take a lot more than a quick rinse to cleanse his conscience.

When he settled into bed that night, he turned her photograph facedown on his side table, unable to quell the guilt of what he’d done earlier.

But truth be told, it wasn’t the first time he’d done such a thing, and he knew it wouldn’t be the last. Emma Swan was so alluring, both in body and mind. He’d known her for the greater part of his childhood, all those formative years leading up to his coming of age. He didn’t even realize he’d fallen love with her until she’d been head over heels for that bastard when they were almost seventeen.

And it didn’t matter how many times he tried to convince himself that loving her was a bad idea. They were best friends. And he couldn’t risk losing her. His unrequited love was not her problem and he’d never want to put that burden upon her.

But if he kept it to himself like this, was it really awful? Was wanting her in secret such a horrible thing?

No, he thought, but thinking of her flushed and naked and needy for him definitely was. It wouldn’t deter him from doing it again, fantasizing about what she’d be like in bed (or on a couch, or across a kitchen counter, or down on the carpeted floor).

He liked to think the nonsexual fantasies he had made up for the raunchy ones. The decent ones where he just held her hand or brushed his lips across her cheek or cuddled with her under the warmth of covers. He had those kinds of thoughts much more often than the inappropriate ones. Just casual, sweet moments that the two of them could share together in some imaginary future. They’d be married with a house by the ocean. They’d have matching mugs, sipping tea or hot cocoa or coffee on the patio next to each other. They’d go on dates at fancy Italian restaurants and then come home to relieve the babysitter and take care of little Henry. They’d, all three of them, go out sailing together, wind in their hair and the waves gently rolling beneath them.

Gods, he wanted that life. He wanted it so badly that he’d gladly give up everything he had to have it.

Well, except for Emma’s friendship.

Maybe he needed to just take a step back, try and figure out how he could put an end to these unhealthy thoughts of her. Obviously she wasn’t interested. He just needed something to focus on, to keep his mind off of her. He needed to fucking _get over it_ because his fantasies were just that: _fantasies_.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Boston, 2004.

 

Emma stood still with her eyes closed as the shower water rained down across her neck and chest, rolling in waves across her body. It was so warm, being engulfed in the lavender and vanilla scent filling the room. The light was off, just a few candles flickering lowly and gently illuminating her small little world. She’d have preferred a nice, long bubble bath, but alas, tiny studio apartments in the middle of Boston were typically absent of such luxuries.

Her day, or night rather, at work had been one disaster after another. Usually, she had no problems working the bar, but tonight it was like the universe was just punishing her for something. She’d dropped and shattered two bottles, spending a good deal of time flushed and rushing around to clean up, cursing quietly at how the cost of them would be cut from her next paycheck. She also got hit on more than usual; perhaps it was because her backside had been on display to anyone sitting at the bar as she went about cleaning her mess.

So, upon arriving home, she’d paid the sitter, kissed her sleeping toddler on the forehead, and headed straight to the bathroom for some Emma time.

She turned, smoothing down her hair as the water began to soak it, inhaling and exhaling slowly. But she couldn’t relax like she’d hoped she would. It just wasn’t doing it for her tonight.

There was just this incessant buzzing under her skin and she needed a more physical outlet. Punching walls was not really an option. Punching people even less so. But _physical_ didn’t have to mean in anger.

Her hand traveled down the length of her torso, its destination evident. She was hot and bothered and riled up and if she could just _come_ then things would be so much better. God, when was the last time she’d been fucked? She could barely remember. It must have been…

 _Ah_. It had been about eight months ago, not long before she’d spoken to Killian on the phone for the first time. She couldn’t remember the man’s face, and probably had never even asked for his name, before she’d let him take her to a cheap hotel. One-night stands weren’t really her thing, but she hadn’t really been in the mood for a relationship post-Neal so her only options for release were either to bang a stranger or get the job done herself.

The latter seemed to be doing her just fine as of late. After all, if she were really being honest with herself, other men just didn’t seem appealing when she was crazy about her best friend.

She’d just spoken to him the day before. It had been late in London and his voice had been gravelly and thick with exhaustion and even thinking about it now made her shiver. _God_ his voice was sexy. And while she was well aware that she was biased, being in love with him and all, she was pretty sure this was an irrefutable fact. His words were heavy and round, his accent making it sound like his voice was a pure work of art.

Her fingers danced through the soft curls over her sex, just teasingly stroking the skin and tugging on the hair, working herself up gently as she imagined what it must feel like to have him use that sultry, low voice to whisper filthy things against the bare skin of her neck.

She had no image of him, no way to know what his body would look like, so she didn’t bother trying create an ideal version of him in her head. Instead, she just focused on _feeling_.

He liked carving as a hobby and worked full-time in the Navy, so his fingers would undoubtedly hold evidence of slight calluses. They’d feel rough and masculine as he touched her, gliding feather-light over her flesh before getting more assertive in his motions. She could imagine it now, how warm he’d be, how bold and demanding in his desire, her cheeks blooming red in response to his ministrations. 

One of her hands went to cup each breast one after the other, her short nails scratching softly against her nipples and making her breath stutter. She leaned against the side of the shower stall to hold herself steady.

 _“Do you like that, love?”_ he’d growl, that ridiculously hot timbre deepening in arousal as his teeth and tongue skimmed over her collarbone, sucking a rosy mark into her skin that would stay there for days.

She moaned quietly, breaths coming out in harsh, quick pants as her middle finger brushed lower and rubbed a small circle against her clit. Her lips pursed at the feeling. She added her forefinger and ring finger, swirling them around, changing the pressure lighter on some rolls and heavier on others. She turned a little, spreading herself and letting one of the raining jets of water hit her tender, hooded bud. Her hips jerked and she nearly slipped before regaining her balance, feeling her heartbeat rise to her throat.

_“How does it feel, Emma? How does it feel to have my hands on you – my fingers sliding over your dripping cunt?”_

“Fuck,” she muttered, dipping further down and rimming her slick entrance. God, she was so turned on. “More.”

_“More? Oh, darling. So desperate for me. I like that.”_

“Please,” she whispered. Her arousal spread over her fingertips, mixing with the shower water as it ran down the inside of her thighs. She barely slipped the tip of one finger inside before pulling out. “Need you.”

 _“Hmm, I can see that. But what exactly do you need? My fingers inside you? My tongue? Or do you need my cock?”_ She shuddered as she smeared her juices up and over her clit before sliding them back down.  _"Do you need me to fill you to the brim, to fuck you so hard you'll not walk for days? Mmm. Tell me, darling."_

“Just fuck me," she gasped, entranced by the teasing, aroused Killian Jones of her imagination.

More of her weight settled back onto the tiled shower wall as she finally slid two fingers inside herself, eyes rolling back into her head as she began riding them at a steady pace. Her clit descended relentlessly across her palm on every thrust and her other hand stayed occupied with rolling her nipple into a sharp peak, twisting and tugging to drag her even higher.

 _“Gods, just like that. Emma, you’re so bloody gorgeous, riding my cock.”_ Her head fell back, hitting a little painfully against the wall. _“That’s it. Take me all the way.”_  

Her wrist strained with the force of her deep thrusts, her hips undulating and her teeth sinking into the flesh of her lower lip as she sped up. Just the thought of him rutting into her made her knees weak and her chest heave with each shuddering breath. She widened her stance, curling her fingers and whimpering as she grazed the over-sensitive muscles inside. 

_“So wet and eager for me. Tell me, Emma. Tell me how it feels.”_

Her tongue darted out to wet her lips, hand releasing her breast and trailing up to brush over her lips.

“So good,” she moaned, clit grinding against her palm. “You’re so hard. So thick. Fuck. Don’t stop.”

And he wouldn’t. He’d keep diving in, working her with hard, fast strokes, hands gripping at her hips, thumbs rolling over the protruding bones of her pelvis as he held her in place. He’d lay wet, hot, open-mouthed kisses across her chest, laving over her nipples, perhaps nipping at them gently. Strong arms would lift her up, her legs encircling his hips as his self-control petered on the edge of no return. His kisses would be persistent and warm, tongue slick as it invaded her mouth, his taste lingering as he pulled away.

She imagined him leaning to the side, nibbling her earlobe and then sucking it into his mouth. It was a weak spot of hers and she reached over to finger the long-closed hole from when she’d pierced it at sixteen. Her toes strained and coiled from the building pressure, her insides screaming for release.

_“Are you going to come, sweetheart? Do it for me. Come.”_

She pulled her hand to her lips and bit the side of her knuckles as she peaked, her hips jutting forward as her orgasm washed over her, little spasms working their way through her core and thighs.

She took large gulps of air as she came down, shivering at both the aftershocks and the cooling water, now just lukewarm but feeling cold against her heated skin.

Her hand relaxed and she glanced down at the sticky, wet remnants of her arousal coating her fingers, a few drops falling to the shower floor. She shook her head and shoved her whole hand under the spray, rinsing away the evidence.

She was so fucked. She couldn’t keep doing this. Not only was it unhealthy to continue to fantasize about her best friend, it also felt a little like she was violating him in some way. Ridiculous thought, she knew. But was she supposed to be proud over her actions? Masturbating in the shower to the memory of her friend’s voice would probably be categorized as ‘creepy.’

She rinsed off quickly before the water began to get frigid and then toweled dry. She blew out the candles and let her eyes adjust to the darkness for a moment. Then, ignoring her still-dripping hair, she stepped out of the bathroom, threw on some underwear and a t-shirt, and fell into bed.

She sighed and massaged at the sore muscles between her brows, her mind still unsettled and swimming with endless thoughts.

She glanced over at her phone on the bedside table.

 _No._ She would not call him. They’d talked yesterday and she couldn’t afford another call. Hell, he probably wasn’t even awake at this hour anyway. And what would be the point, really? What would she say?

‘Hey, Killian. Just wondering what you’re supposed to do when you’re madly in love with someone really close to you but you can’t tell them and yet you’re still imagining them loving you and fucking you the way you really _desperately_ want them to?’

Sure. That would go over great.

It isn’t like she actually had any other friends. He’d know she was talking about him. She could lie and say she’d met someone, but she didn’t want to do that. Besides, he’d probably see right through that little deception.

Sleep was light and restless for Emma that night, and by the time Henry woke her in the morning, her heart had still not settled.


	2. Chapter 2

Storybrooke, November 2007.

 

Bloody hell. Bloody _hell_. Bloody fucking hell.

Killian leaned heavily against the wooden door of his rented room at Granny’s, his mind in complete chaos as he reflected over the past day.

He’d spent the entire flight over unable to relax, his leg bouncing restlessly and his stomach churning. The food he’d eaten on the plane had been tasteless and felt like it turned to ash in his mouth. He hadn’t been able to keep it down but luckily he managed to wait until landing and took a trip to one of the restrooms at Logan International. His short layover there had been hell and he’d almost, _almost_ gone to the ticket counter and bought himself a flight back to London. Instead, he’d called Liam from a payphone and his brother had given him the pep talk he needed to step onto that second plane. (“Relax, little brother. I’m sure she’ll understand. She’s been sending letters this entire time, right? She hasn’t given up on you.”)

The cab driver in Portland had no clue where Storybrooke was, but Killian managed to navigate from the backseat, a difficult task when it was already dark and the town was located in the middle of fucking nowhere.

But he’d made it. He’d made it and after booking a room and dropping his things off, he’d immediately turned around and left for Emma’s apartment. He had no need for a map. He’d already memorized the route in London after studying the map for nearly an hour on Liam’s computer.

He’d probably stood outside her door for twenty minutes before he worked up the courage to knock. But she hadn’t been home. So he’d just stood there, awkwardly leaning on the wall for a while before just sighing and sliding to the floor, his head hung. He’d spent another half hour just sitting there, waiting, worrying, contemplating just how stupid he’d be if he ran back to England with his tail between his legs, but then he heard the building door open and a chorus of feminine giggles rise from the stairwell. He’d scrambled to his feet, eyes darting around for an escape route, but when he (luckily) found none, he watched in awe as his Swan came into view. She was real and right in front of him and he’d been a complete nervous wreck, his voice stuck in his throat, his hands unable to still themselves at his sides.

But then he saw the recognition in her eyes. The shock. The fear. The confusion. The anger. Gods, he’d seen the anger. And he deserved it, but bloody hell did it hurt. She’d called him an asshole and thrown strong punches to his chest and for just a few moments he sincerely regretted coming all this way, if only because he caused her pain. 

But then she was crying and grasping his shirt and losing her footing and then they were huddled in a tearful, messy heap on the hallway floor. He’d held her so tight, crying into her shoulder, sending his quiet blessings and thanks to any God that would listen. Emma Swan in his arms… It was such a perfect fit.

But his poor friend was pitifully drunk, her makeup smeared and rolling down her cheeks with her tears. He’d had to help steady her as she stumbled about, trying to get inside her apartment. She looked an absolute mess and it didn’t matter. She was glorious, the most beautiful thing he’d ever laid eyes on. So, _so_ much better in person. And her short, tight dress (bloody hell did he take note of _that_ ) rode up as she tried to get comfortable on her couch. Her shoulders were squared and her eyes guarded, probably still struggling with her anger. And he understood that, he really did, but he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to handle it if things didn’t go well for him after explaining his absence.

Everything went by so quickly. He started talking and it was like he had some sort of out-of-body experience, floating somewhere above and watching himself relive the terrible moments that had happened earlier in the year as he spoke to her. She’d been quite clearly shocked and apologetic, _understanding_ even. He truly had no idea what he ever did to deserve her. She held his hands, wrapped her arms around him, comforted him. 

She’d kissed him gently on the temple and it had been so tender and sweet… he’d very nearly broken down again at that, trying to reel in his feelings. His hands itched to hold her the way he truly wanted to, but he held back. Her warmth, her fingers in his hair, her soft hands moving down the nape of his neck or cradled in his own… that was enough for him for now. It was the first time in nearly eight months that he felt truly at peace. Her touch was so comforting and reassuring. The pain and torment released him for as long as she’d held him in her arms.

And then she’d scurried off to the bathroom to vomit what appeared to be several liters of alcohol, and he’d gone to help her on instinct. Which apparently was the wrong thing to do, given her very furious demands for him to leave. It was nothing to be embarrassed over. Gods, he’d drunken himself into a stupor more times than he wished to admit over the past several months, and had emptied the contents of his stomach in far worse places than directly into the toilet. (He cringed, thinking back to the moment where Liam had found him half-asleep and practically drenched in his own sick. His brother had mercifully helped to clean him up and carry him to bed even with the uneasy limp due to his prosthetic leg, and Killian couldn’t even begrudge him for the sharp smack to his face after he’d finally awoken, so hungover he could barely remember his own bloody name.)

He’d slumped on her couch, trying to process it all, the realization of what he’d accomplished by coming all this way finally sinking in.

And when she had returned, fresh-faced and wearing something much less revealing, much more _Emma_ , he couldn’t help but smile. Emma Swan was his best friend. They’d practically grown up together despite the distance between them. Hundreds of letters, hundreds of thousands – possibly _millions_ – of words shared over the years. Dozens of long, drawn out phone calls where neither of them seemed keen on hanging up first. 

So he’d done what came naturally; he teased her.

Gods, her laugh was so familiar and relaxing. He loved it. He loved _her_. He wanted to tell her, to let everything he’d ever felt for her spill from his lips. And then to press those very same lips to hers, to kiss her cheeks and her brow and her chin and nose, to shower her with affection, to trace the contours of her skin with his fingertips…

Ah, but it was too much, too soon. The thought of completely fucking things up terrified him, of seeing the fear and shock and maybe even that fury returning to her eyes. He couldn’t bear to lose her, especially _now_. Any plans he might have had on revealing his feelings were quickly discarded in favor of reveling in the comfortable, friendly intimacy they’d somehow managed to progress into after a lengthy (and emotionally draining) conversation.

When she’d asked him to stay instead of returning to his rented room… he’d briefly wondered if he was dreaming. He’d looked her over, staring in wonder at the imploring look in her eyes. How could he say no?

It had taken everything in him not to kiss her right then and there, but he stopped himself in the last moment and just threw his arms around her, clinging as if his very life depended on it. (Maybe it had.)

She’d hugged him back, her hands warm against his back. And then she’d wanted to know how long he’d stay. He could’ve cried at the elation clear on her face – hidden, perhaps, behind her surprise – when he revealed that he had no plans on returning to his home country.

Despite the joy and relief he felt at being with her, his sleeping mind still seemed to be stuck in that dreadful nightmare that had replayed itself countless times over the year. His dreams had been restless and horrifying, taking that terrible moment and intensifying it with the twisted world of his subconscious. He watched it all in slow motion, the walls ripping apart, shrapnel flying around the air, angry fire setting the room alight. He watched the scene through a filter of flickering red, his pained eyes darting about as he searched for his comrades – for his _Captain_. He could do nothing but whimper and cry as he conjured an image of Liam, bloodied and broken, lifeless on the ground next to him.

It wasn’t a memory. He had blacked out long before he’d been able to see anyone else. But it was quite the disturbing sight, nonetheless.

He’d jolted awake at the feeling of something pressing against his back and stomach.

And then he realized that it was _her_. His darling Swan had been trying to quell his vicious nightmares, holding him to offer comfort. If he hadn’t been so tired, so haunted, he’d have thought to savor the moment.

He’d later awoken to her falling from his arms, fumbling on the floor, and then running off to get her phone. The jetlag had really taken a number on him so he’d chosen not to move, but he’d stirred a bit upon hearing that Emma was talking to Henry.

 _Henry._ Gods, Emma had sent a picture on his last birthday and he’d grown so, so much. Killian desperately wanted to meet him. It hadn’t only been Emma he’d missed over the past year. Henry’s eager, excited ramblings over the phone had always put him in a good mood and had him almost envious of Emma being a parent.

She didn’t tell the boy he was here and he was slightly disappointed. But there had been this strange, heart-stopping moment where she’d looked him right in the eyes while whispering her love to Henry. He’d kept his expression schooled into neutrality, but truthfully he was shaken. He realized that it had probably been unintentional, that Emma wasn’t even talking to him, but it was good to imagine (if only for a few seconds) that his goal in coming here to win her heart wasn’t as ridiculous as it sounded.

They spoke a little after that, continuing to clear the air, but he’d been too exhausted to get deep into anything. He’d gestured for her to lie back down with him and, to his surprise, she did so without hesitation. She’d laid her head on his arm and pressed her back against him. (He was grateful for his fatigue or the position might have caused some unintentional, inappropriate side effects.) 

A couple of hours later, after some extremely restful and dream-free sleep, Killian had awoken again on his own. Emma was still sleeping, her breathing steady and heart beating gently, reverberating through her back and softly hitting his chest in the most calming, peaceful way.

He had reveled in the simple luxury of holding Emma Swan against him. As much as it completely jumbled his emotions, it also felt strangely… normal. As if they’d done it many times before. The intimacy almost came naturally. He had worried that things might be awkward and uncomfortable and just plain _weird_ once they’d met in person, but he was very pleasantly surprised that that was not the case. Perhaps it’s because the two of them already knew each other intimately. They had been talking back and forth since their ages could be counted on two hands – more than half their lives.

He’d spent nearly half an hour just lying still, not wanting to wake her, fearing the moment she’d leave his embrace. She was so warm. His nose was buried in her hair and he could smell her shampoo, something crisp and clean and citrusy. He could also smell alcohol, but that was to be expected after the night she’d had.

After she’d woken up again, they’d easily fallen into conversation once more. She asked about Liam and he answered her with a tad bit of self-deprecation, which she scolded him for. He told her how (with his brother’s help) he’d decided to come to Storybrooke in hopes of explaining his absence and reestablishing their friendship.

They’d held each other for several long moments and Killian had wondered – not for the first time since his arrival – if he actually _had_ died in the blast on that bloody ship. Perhaps all those months of self-loathing and despair had been his hell, and somehow he’d repented enough that he’d been allowed into heaven. Because that’s truly how it felt with Emma’s strong, lithe arms winding around his neck and her breath coming out in gentle, warm puffs against his neck. It was divine. Just being there with her, confessing some of his fears, innocently touching, feeling the reassurance in her gaze… His spirit had never felt so whole.

And then Emma’s boyfriend showed up.

Bloody hell, it would have been less shocking to his system if someone had dumped an actual bucket of ice water over his head.

Emma was clearly uncomfortable with the two of them meeting and he selfishly hoped there was some deeper meaning to that. It didn’t hurt that moments later she’d hinted that she found him attractive, and even flushed a beautiful shade of rose when he’d covered for her by telling her boyfriend that he had slept on her couch. (It hadn’t been a lie. Merely an omission of truth. And one he rather enjoyed keeping to himself.) 

He’d found his manners then, shaking Walsh’s hand as Emma went off to put her flowers in a vase. After she’d wandered into the kitchen, Walsh had cleared his throat and given him another appraising look. 

“So you just… showed up on her doorstep? With no warning?” he’d asked, his tone a bit brusque. The crease between his brows and the hardened look in his eyes revealed his irritation. And perhaps something a little more had been hidden in there. Jealousy?

“Aye,” he’d responded, the discomfort causing his nervous tic to pop up, his hand automatically reaching up to scratch at his ear. “It- uh… Some things happened back in England, so I guess I just… needed my best friend.” 

Walsh practically scoffed, his chest puffing out and his eyes narrowing.

“Right. Well, just so we’re clear, Emma’s _my_ girlfriend and we’re serious about each other.” Killian had nearly rolled his eyes at that, but his next words made him pause. “And she’s told me about you. You’ve been ignoring her letters for like, what… a year? What kind of _best friend_ does that?”

Killian’s eyes had widened incredulously. As much as he already despised this man (half because he was dating Emma, and half because of his ridiculously possessive tone), he’d had no comeback. It was the truth, after all. 

What kind of best friend _was_ he?

The worst kind.

When Emma returned, he’d excused himself to the bathroom and just sat on the edge of the tub, wiping a hand over his face and generally feeling awful. Emma had forgiven him already and yet… the fact that she had apparently spoken about him to her boyfriend, about how he’d practically abandoned her – something he had promised her on _many_ occasions that he would never, ever do – was a pretty big hit to his conscience.

He’d have to make it up to her. He’d have to spend a _long_ time making it up to her. Especially if he ever wanted her to see him as something more.

He’d determinedly cleared away the contempt he felt for himself and exited the bathroom only to linger awkwardly in the hallway as he heard the tail end of their argument. Then he watched, almost in slow motion, Emma Swan embracing and kissing Walsh, looking for all the world like she was happy and content and possibly even in love.

With… Walsh.

Of course, Emma was free to feel however she wanted toward anyone she wanted. But it still just felt _wrong_. Or perhaps he was just being an entitled prat, his selfish desires for his (lovely, incredible, perfect) best friend boiling into envy.

But he wouldn’t let negative thoughts cloud him. Not now. Not after he’d come all this way. So after Walsh left, he’d just decided to tease her about the brief moment that she and her boyfriend had stroked his ego by whispering rather loudly about his good looks.

But Emma surprised him, freely admitting to finding him attractive. Which, wow. Hearing that from her nearly made him forget all about the encounter with Walsh. Perhaps he had a chance, after all. He did have the benefit of a long history with her. He most certainly knew more about her than that idiot did. There was no doubt that he loved her more.

It was probably a bit unfair, but he had to test the waters further, just dip his toes in a little. He’d use any weapons in his arsenal, including his devilishly handsome face, in order to win her over. He had all the time in the world.

That sinful blush had returned when he’d called her beautiful. Gods, he was completely fucked when it came to her. His heart had very nearly beat straight out of his chest at seeing how his praise (or, really, just his honesty) had affected her.

And then mere moments later, she’d left him flabbergasted when she invited him to stay with her. To _stay_ with her. As in, to live in her apartment with her and Henry. With no apparent end-date in sight.

It had certainly been a good boost to his confidence.

So perhaps he’d flirted a little bit more. Turned up the charm. He’d lowered his voice and invaded her personal space, asking her what she wanted – for lunch, of course, though his tone would suggest otherwise.

Gods, the way she’d reacted. She’d choked up, mouth slightly agape as she flustered. Her pupils had dilated just a bit and he felt a zing of electricity up his spine. He’d actually _heard_ her breath catch. And _he’d_ done that to her.

He didn’t know whether to feel smug or humbled.

In the end, he had left her apartment with nothing but a soft smile, hoping that she remained oblivious to his desperation. He had already felt the stirrings in his gut, the deep, intense desire to just reach out and _touch_. To hold her. Bloody hell did he want to hold her.

It had been a very eventful twenty-four hours.

And now he was here, his slightly sweaty back pressed up against the door of the room he would not actually be sleeping in tonight (or any other night), his crazy hair sticking up at odd angles as he continually ran his fingers through it, his chest so tight it felt like someone had laced him into a bloody corset, and a million thoughts racing through his mind. 

And, to top it all off, a raging hard-on.

Gods, he hated himself. This was not the time. He stared down at his tented jeans, expression weary.

Was it the nerves? Was it his body’s natural response to the surreal, intense high he’d been flying on since he first touched her? Was it the fact that he’d spent far too many years fantasizing and dreaming about what their meeting would be like, and now that it _had_ happened, this was a Pavlovian response? (Think about touching Emma and get a nice, satisfying treat! Good boy, Killian.)

Truthfully it was probably those last few moments of her flashing in his mind, the way her gaze had darkened and her breathing faltered. He wanted her so fucking badly, in every possible way. 

Ugh.

He tossed his head back, cringing as the wood thumped loudly against his skull, and then let out a long, audible growl.

Then he sighed, utterly defeated by his libido. He’d already jerked off to Emma more times than he cared to count, so it wasn’t like this was anything new.

Well. It was. Because now he didn’t have to _imagine_ what her skin felt like; he knew its silky softness and warmth now. He didn’t have to guess at how her arms would feel wrapped around his neck or her hands in his hair. He didn’t have to dream of what the brush of her lips felt like against him. (And so what if it had only been against his temple? He could work with that.)

He had the entire picture now – the way she looked, the beautiful, musical lilt of her voice, the heat radiating from her body… He still felt like a creep, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He was too busy trying to unzip his jeans to free his cock and relieve it from its constraints.

He groaned in relief as he finally managed it, shuffling slowly to the bed with his fly wide open. He collapsed backward, his back hitting the mattress and his left hand skimming over the obvious bulge in his underwear.

He hissed in pain as his half-mangled hand cramped up. Damn it. His attempt at curling his stiff, useless fingers was a bad idea. He should have remembered. It was moments like this when he missed the use of his dominant hand.

Gods, what a ridiculous man he was. He’d lost his ability to _write_. He’d lost his skill with chisels and woodworking knives. But right now he was just so goddamned angry that he’d lost the use of his wanking hand. (Way to ruin all his favorite emotional and physical outlets with one fell swoop, Universe.) 

Rightie would have to work.

He closed his eyes, his fingers dipping below the waistband of his boxer-briefs. Her scent still clung to him and he inhaled deeply, remembering the way her body felt lying snugly against his. Her form was dainty – slim and shorter than he’d expected – but her body was firm. It must have been from all her training with Mulan and her work as sheriff.

And he’d gotten quite the eyeful last night. He groaned as he recalled all of her glorious skin on display. Those toned arms. Those long, ridiculously sculpted legs. The delicious jut of her collarbone and her alluring décolletage. And, yes, Gods help him, he’d made such an effort not to stare down at where her dress had ridden up nearly to her hips. He could clearly see the deep purple lace-trimmed knickers peeking out from beneath the hem of her dress. (Did her bra match? He liked to think it did.)

If things had been different between them – romantic (and certainly if she had been sober) – perhaps she wouldn’t have protested had he slowly leaned her back, wedging her between the couch and his own body. He’d have kissed her with everything he had, leaving her breathless and wanting. The soft, pliable swell of her breasts would feel like heaven pressed against his chest, especially if he’d freed her from the confines of that skin-tight dress and rid himself of his shirt.

Her hands might have squeezed and worked their way up his arms and shoulders, winding around his back, her short nails catching over his shoulder blades. He would not have complained had she scratched them deeper, marking him with long, red lines.

He pushed the bottom of his shirt up with his left hand, keeping his fingers straight as he caressed his own stomach while his right hand remained firmly locked around his cock. The slow, languid drag of his less-practiced hand was enough to build up the pressure as he continued to mentally debauch his best friend.

He’d touch every single bit of her, gliding his good hand under her sheer, lacy bra, down her ribcage, then over her trembling abdomen. He’d explore her mouth with his tongue as his fingers deftly slid over the material of her panties. They’d be ruined with her arousal, soaked and hot.

He smeared his own precum over the head of his cock with his thumb, grunting and biting down on his lip. Never before had his imagination brought him such a clear, lifelike fantasy. He could almost feel it right now, everything he was doing to her – _with_ her.

He’d listen intently to every hitch in her breathing, every whimper and sigh, every moan she tried to quiet. It would be an utter pleasure to learn her weak spots and drag her higher, to make her lose control until she could do nothing but beg him, “ _More, more. God, Killian, so good,_ ” as her voice continually raised in pitch and volume.

His mouth watered and he swallowed thickly, chest rising and falling rapidly as he pictured dipping his hand beneath the thin fabric covering Emma’s most intimate parts. She’d be slick and sensitive and his fingers would slide easily over her. He’d tease and twist and roll his fingertips over her as she clung to him to ground herself.

Before she could come, he’d stop and pull his hand away, watching her eyes burn with desire. 

“ _I was so close_ ,” she’d whimper, her voice hoarse from her pleas.

Instead of replying, he’d just chuckle lowly and maintain eye contact as he lifted his fingers to his lips to lick them clean, tasting her unique tang and watching her eyes widen. Gods, he wanted to turn her on like that. He wanted her to see how very much he needed her.

His arse clenched and abdomen trembled as he fought to stave off his orgasm, needing to see his fantasy to the end. For a few moments, his hand relaxed so he could try and get just a few more minutes with her, even if she was just a figment of his imagination.

He’d lick and nibble at her breasts, swirling his tongue over her pert nipples through her bra as he worked her underwear down her legs. Then he’d hover over her, lining himself up and groaning huskily as his rigid, aching cock slid through her folds. He’d thrust against her a few times, the belled head of his length rubbing over her clit with every pass. She’d be a mess beneath him, gasping and mumbling nonsense as he finally slid home.

The heat was nearly unbearable and sweat coated his brow and seeped straight through his Henley as he continued to stroke himself. He couldn’t even restrain himself any longer, his wrist jerking and his fingers tightening over his cock as he chased his peak.

He’d probably be unable to hold back, slamming into her relentlessly, the sound of their skin slapping together echoing in the room as he gripped her thigh and hitched it higher on his hip. Those beautiful, soft, pink lips of hers would be open wide in satisfaction, her eyes squeezed shut as the sensations overwhelmed her.

She would come first. He’d make sure of that. Even if he had to pinch a bruise into his own thigh to keep his orgasm at bay. He’d hear her pants and moans get louder and louder until she was spasming and screaming and clenching around him.

He shouted her name as he came, shuddering as warm jets of his release shot over his stomach and hands, a bit of it soaking into his shirt. For several moments, he could do nothing but lie still and try to catch his breath, his throat dry and sore and his body shivering as the air in the room gradually cooled him off.

“Fucking hell.”

His eyes opened and the light in the room seemed too bright, almost nauseating. He pushed himself up and hunched over the edge of the bed. He quickly divested himself of his shirt and then wiped his hands and stomach with it, feeling – as usual – utterly disgusting.

He couldn’t be like this from now on. He was going to be living in the same apartment as her. Hell, he’d be living with her son. This kind of behavior was pretty much off limits now and he had to get ahold of himself.

Maybe someday, weeks or months or years from now, he’d get to have the real thing. He’d accomplished so much already just by coming here so if he worked at it, tried his best to prove himself a man worthy of her love, maybe there would come a day when he wouldn’t have to use his imagination.

Ah, but he didn’t want to get his hopes up. Optimism was one thing but he didn’t want to sink into ‘delusional’ territory. After all, she did have a boyfriend, even if said boyfriend happened to be an arse. At least Emma was still his best friend. He’d always have her friendship.

He sighed and tossed his shirt on the floor, making a mental note to wrap it in a plastic bag before putting it away in his luggage. Then he headed for the shower. He would make it quick. He really wanted to finish up and get back to Emma as soon as possible.

Although, if he spent a few extra minutes trimming his scruff and styling his hair after cleaning up, certainly that would be a reasonable use of his time. He did have a woman’s heart to win, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNING: This chapter includes a sex scene between Walsh and Emma. That passage is surrounded by asterisks, so if you wish to skip it, please do so. And, you know, understand that this chapter took place before they'd broken up, and sex is a thing a lot of couples typically do together. I didn't write it because I wanted Walsh/Emma smut, but because I wanted to get into Emma's head and see how she's handling intimacy with both Walsh and Killian during those few weeks where they were both active in her life. I will not at all be offended if you choose to skip that scene or this entire chapter.
> 
> (Just to be clear, there's CS smut intermingled here in Emma's fantasies.)

She sucked her bottom lip into her mouth at the image of his sinewy physique completely drenched, with water droplets streaming down his arms and torso and dripping from his dark hair. All that glorious chest hair matted with moisture. His piercing eyes alit with curiosity and desire. There were no words.

Or maybe there was. 

 _Delectable_ sounded pretty dead-on. 

That damn towel was in the way and she sauntered into his space, her eyes locked on the white cotton wrapped around his hips. His arousal was very clearly evident, lifting the material up and away from him, and she decided to take in upon herself to remove it fully.

It hit the floor without a sound and she unashamedly stared directly at his thick, solid cock, now jutting out towards her. She made a strange sound, somewhere between a whine and a moan, as the very tip brushed up against her stomach.

Her head snapped up as she heard his low, sultry chuckle, and she gazed heatedly into his darkening eyes. He looked like he wanted to devour her, and God, was she onboard with that idea.

“ _Emma, I want you_.”

She hummed and stepped closer, his length now pressed between their bodies. She nimbly wiggled her hand between them, sighing as she finally grasped him. His hips jerked forward and he groaned, a very satisfied sound that made Emma shiver. She smirked and watched as his mouth fell open and eyes squeezed shut, pumping her hand over his heated flesh. Her clothes were absorbing the warm moisture on his body from his abandoned shower and she couldn’t find it in herself to care.

“ _Emma_ ,” he groaned. “ _Emma. Emma. Emma._ ”

He kept repeating her name, his hoarse voice morphing into something more alert and concerned. So odd… 

“Emma?”

She visibly jumped, the sound of Walsh’s voice pulling her from her wandering thoughts. But her jerky movement caused her half-empty glass of white wine to topple over across the linen tablecloth. She gasped and scrambled to return the glass to its upright position, swiping a napkin and pressing it over the spill.

“Oh god,” she muttered, grimacing as her vision shifted to focus on the face of her boyfriend sitting across the table. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment and maybe just a tad of her lingering arousal.

Walsh immediately grasped her wrist, holding her hand still as he offered her a reassuring smile.

“Relax, Emma. Don’t worry about it. It’s just a glass of wine.”

He released her and then gestured to a passing waiter. Emma sighed and settled back into her seat as the gentleman taking care of them came by to dab the remaining moisture from the table and then refilled her glass.

She thanked him and took a hefty sip, the alcohol burning delightfully down her throat and relaxing her. 

“Are you all right?” Walsh asked, twirling around a piece of food absentmindedly on his plate as he watched her. “You looked like you were far away.”

“I’m so sorry,” she sighed.

God, what was _wrong_ with her? Fantasizing about Killian in the middle of her date with Walsh? How horrible could she be? Just because she’d gotten quite the eyeful yesterday morning didn’t mean that she could just keep her head in the clouds forever. She liked to think she had a little more self-control than that.

“I’ve just been…” She paused, shrugging as she made a quick excuse. “I’ve been so busy lately. I guess I'm just a little more tired than I thought.”

“Ah.” A strange look passed over his features and she wasn’t quite sure how to read it. “Well you have been doing quite a bit of recreation lately...”

The way he said _recreation_ made her want to cringe. Why did it sound like he was talking about something else?

“Yeah,” she said carefully, gauging his reactions. “Like, yesterday we went over to Hank’s and spent over two hours on horseback, then the whole afternoon we were out on Eric’s boat so-“ 

“And by ‘we’ you mean you, Henry, and Killian?”

Yep. He was definitely moping over her spending more time with her friend than him. Again. 

“Walsh, please don’t.” 

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t start this again. Look, I _know_ , okay? I know I’ve been spending a little less time with you lately. And I’m really sorry. I’m trying to make it up to you.”

She sighed and reached out, grabbing his hand over the table. He seemed to relax a little, his features softening as he gripped her fingers lightly.

“I know, babe. Sorry. I just feel like even when we do spend time together, it’s like…” He hesitated and she scrunched her brow as she waited for him to continue. “It’s like you’re not all _here_. You know?”

She did know. Hell, she’d just been daydreaming about Killian’s hot, wet, firm, naked body pressed against-

Shit. She cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably in her seat as she came back to reality again.

“What do you mean?” she asked, feigning ignorance. But Walsh was having none of that. He just gave her a pointed look and she huffed quietly in defeat. “Okay, yeah. So I’ve been a little… absent. I’ll give you that.” 

Honestly though, she wanted to point out that _he_ , on the other hand, had been pestering her nonstop with texts and surprise visits. But, well, her dirty fantasies about her best friend trumped his clinginess, making her the worse partner in the relationship, so she thought better than to bring it up at the moment.

He brought her hand to his lips and lightly kissed the back of her fingers, then smiled warmly.

“It’s just a rough patch,” he said, apparently trying to reassure her. “I don’t mind that you go and do exciting things with Henry and your… friend. But I need to know that you still want this. You do _want_ me, right?”

She hadn’t expected him to actually ask her that, so she swallowed thickly and tried her best to look genuine.

“Of _course_ ,” she lied.

Her boyfriend’s face lit up with delight and she felt a desperate need to run and hide. She was such an ass. Maybe she wasn’t in love with him, but she liked him.

She did _like_ him. Right?

Maybe that was enough.

After they finished their dinner and Walsh paid, they slowly wandered out to his car, her hand gently held in his. When she made to step away from him to open her door, he tugged her back and she stared back at him in confusion.

“So, about the whole ‘making it up to me’ thing,” he began, swaying a little closer to her and sliding his palms up her arms. “Why don’t you come back to my place?”

Oh. Well, it wasn’t as if she hadn’t expected him to ask. She had, after all, been finding plenty of excuses lately to avoid this, and usually the reasons seemed plausible. Tonight, though, she figured any excuse would sound just like that – an _excuse_.

She wished it made sense. She and Killian were _not_ together and she had no claim to him in that regard, but somehow she just kept feeling like being intimate with Walsh was somehow a betrayal – if not of Killian, then certainly of her own feelings.

But… well, truth be told, the idea wasn’t totally unwelcome at the moment. With all of her recent daydreams and fantasies, she was constantly on edge. There was all this pent up sexual frustration that she needed to release, but how was she to get said release if she didn’t just let loose?

Masturbation was pretty much impossible living in an apartment where all the inside doors had no locks and she had a five-year-old with no concept of privacy. Besides, Killian was always at home when she was. There was just no way around it. 

So yeah. Maybe this was just what she needed. She didn’t have to think too hard about how this would affect her emotionally. She just needed the physical outlet. Right. 

With her decision made, she only hesitated for a moment before wrapping her arms around him and pulling him in for a kiss. She ignored the little voice in her head that kept telling her how much she hated it.

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly as she pulled back. “I think that sounds good.”

Walsh was overjoyed and opened the car door for her, lightly swatting her backside as she entered. She rolled her eyes at the gesture, but smiled anyway at the change in his mood. 

The drive was short and full of nervous tension. The last time they’d slept together was almost a month ago, a full two weeks before Killian came to town. This time was sure to be vastly different but she tried not to think about that.

Walsh parked and the two of them silently headed towards his bottom-floor apartment. They passed a few of his neighbors in the hallway and for some reason, Emma felt like they all just _knew_ what they were about to do. It was a ridiculous thought, but even more ridiculous was how guilty it made her feel.

She shook her head and very, very quietly told herself to just stop thinking about Killian. None of this had anything to do with him. She was going to have sex with her boyfriend and that was a perfectly acceptable thing to do. 

When he pushed the door open and held it for her to enter, she rushed in, not giving herself the chance to hesitate and overthink things.

***************************************

She rid herself of her jacket, socks, and boots while she was still turned away from him, and she startled when she heard him chuckle, his voice much closer to her than she expected. 

“In a hurry?” he murmured, hands sliding over her hips as he pulled her back against his chest. She closed her eyes and rolled her head to the side, offering up her neck to him.

He didn’t waste any time, quickly laying wet, open-mouthed kisses against her skin.

She let him do as he pleased. It was nice. It felt good. Not great, if she were being honest, but she imagined that had a lot less to do with his technique and a lot more to do with all the internal conflict she was horribly failing at burying.

His fingers tugged her buttoned blouse from where it was tucked into her black jeans, then slid under the fabric all the way up to her bra-covered breasts. He continued to lick and suck what would likely turn out to be reddish marks against her skin and for some reason that thought made her stiffen. 

Killian would see them and she didn’t want that.

Or did she? Would he care? Would he get jealous? She was still at least seventy-five percent sure that all the signals she was getting from him were actually just imaginary – wishful thinking on her part. But that other quarter… well, she didn’t want to get her hopes up.

“Babe?” 

Walsh’s hoarse voice brought her back and she remembered that she had tensed up. He must have felt it and stopped. Honestly, she hadn’t even noticed.

“Sorry, just… can you avoid leaving hickeys?” she asked, turning to the side so she could see his face. He looked slightly aggravated and she immediately began to have second thoughts about sleeping together, but sighed as she reminded herself that if Walsh actually knew the thoughts swimming in her head, ‘slightly aggravated’ would probably be best case scenario. “I just don’t want Henry to see and ask questions.”

He relaxed and nodded, her lie obviously making clear sense to him.

“Of course, yeah. That would be an awkward conversation,” he laughed weakly.

“Right,” she agreed.

They paused for a moment, a slight, lingering discomfort breaking the mood a bit.

But eventually, Walsh’s fingers found the buttons of her shirt and with some effort, she managed to relax into his arms.

Once she was freed, she quickly divested him of his own shirt and then the two of them launched into a heated make-out session that had Emma’s arousal back full force. His warm, hard torso was not an unpleasant sight, nor did she dislike having it pressed against her own.

But there was still that nagging little feeling settling in her gut, reminding her that where Walsh was smooth and actually rather soft to the touch, Killian was painted with a thick layer of dark, coarse hair. She would be able to feel it scratching pleasantly over her skin and the sensitive peaks of her nipples.

No. This was not ‘think about Killian’ time. She had to focus on the person right in front of her. So what if she didn’t love him? So what if she already knew their relationship wouldn’t last? So what? For now, he was her boyfriend and she could at least _try_ not to fantasize about someone else while they were kissing and touching each other, right?

Then again, she thought, as he forcefully pushed her jeans down her thighs, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And if she found her release here, with Walsh acting as a surrogate for the person she really wanted, maybe it would even help her deal with all the sexual frustration she’d been nearly suffocating from.

“Bedroom?” he asked, voice muffled against her lips.

She shook her head, making the snap decision to make this as impersonal as possible. It wouldn’t be ‘making love’ or some shit. It was just sex. Just a release.

“No,” she mumbled. “Here. Now.”

She managed to unbuckle his belt, leaving it hanging from the loops of his slacks, and then opened his fly with a few maneuvers of her wrist. The material was loose and fell halfway down his thighs without any effort. 

“Wait, wait,” he said, reaching down for the waistband of his pants. Emma took a step back, confused for a moment at what could possibly make _Walsh_ want to stop. “Here,” he chuckled lowly, snagging something from his back pocket before letting his pants drop again.

“Oh,” Emma breathed, staring at the tiny square of plastic. She was on birth control, but had yet to tell Walsh about that, so they used protection every time. (Not that she had any plans on telling him. She wasn’t even sure how much longer she could stand to date him, anyway. Besides, doubling up on protection wasn’t a bad thing.) “Good call.”

While he busied himself with removing the condom from its wrapper and putting it on, Emma removed the rest of her clothes and settled back against his sofa. It was an uncomfortable, but trendy piece. The cushions were a bit too firm for her liking.

When she looked up again, her boyfriend was also sans clothing, and the condom fit snugly around his length.

He was not an unattractive man. He worked out and it showed. 

But _fuck_ , he just wasn’t what she wanted – _who_ she wanted.

“Babe?”

She jolted, realizing with a bit embarrassment that she’d been staring directly at his cock as she’d been thinking of Killian. She wanted to lean forward and bang her head against Walsh’s redwood coffee table.

Luckily, he didn’t seem to catch on that she’d been daydreaming about someone else. He was smirking, as if he was rather proud that his body could leave her cheeks flushed and eyes unfocused. (She wanted to take him down a few notches, but that would probably result in an argument and probably no sex.)

“Uh, I’m ready if you are.”

Damn, she hated how impatient she sounded. But she _was_ impatient. She just wanted to fuck already. She didn’t want to actually have to think about what she was doing and how she was inevitably going to feel terrible afterwards. 

Walsh leaned down, hovering over her, and kissed her with fervor. She didn’t fight it, just closed her eyes and let herself _feel_. 

His hands were everywhere – squeezing her breasts, skimming down her sides, lifting her legs. Killian’s left hand was bumpy and scarred, stiff and unable to grip at her the way Walsh was. She couldn’t help but wish _that_ was the hand she was feeling against her skin instead.

He made to touch her sex with his palm, but she pushed his hand away.

“Don’t need that.” It luckily came out as an eager whisper rather than the slightly agitated growl she’d imagined. She didn’t want him to draw things out. In fact, she realized she’d much rather not even be kissing him. After all, he was clean-shaven and she greatly desired the feeling of Killian’s facial hair brushing over her cheeks and lips. She shoved his chest away and rolled over, presenting her backside to him and not even bothering to look back to see how pleased he’d be with this position. 

“Hmm, so eager today,” he hummed. She rolled her eyes in annoyance, pushing her hips back as he dug his fingertips into her hips to encourage him to just _do it already_.

She didn’t have to wait long. She’d been wet practically all throughout their date while she’d been daydreaming about Killian, so he slid right in with barely any resistance.

Thank God he didn’t bother trying to start off slow. She just wanted hard and fast and it seemed that he wanted the same. 

She growled and whined as she let herself drown in a very realistic fantasy.

Killian’s right hand gripped at her hip and his left pressed flat against her lower back as he rocked into her. Her nails dug into the plush throw pillow beneath her as the wet, erotic sounds of their coupling filled the empty room.

He was grunting and groaning behind her, his breaths coming out in long, heavy bursts. His hips slammed against her ass with every one of his vigorous thrusts and she shuddered and panted, pushing back to intensify the feeling.

She felt him lean over her and his lips and teeth brushed over the skin between her shoulder blades. Her arms grew weak and she let them collapse beneath her, burying her face in the pillow so she could chant his name in a muffled whisper.

“Oh, Emma,” he moaned loudly.

But his voice was all wrong. It wasn’t his. He wasn’t the one doing these things to her.

And that realization was a thousand times more painful than she thought it would be.

She became lost in a haze of guilt and unease as Walsh continued to take her. It was impossible to reconcile the differences between the spectrum of emotions plaguing her mind and the sustained arousal of her body.

She didn’t even know how long it continued before he came with a muffled grunt and collapsed on top of her.

***************************************

The buzz was still present under her skin and her core ached. She hadn’t come. And Walsh apparently seemed completely oblivious to that fact. He just let out a long, satisfied sigh as his weight settled on top of her and pushed her deeper into the uncomfortable couch cushions. 

She felt… hollow. Like she’d just committed some horrendous act of adultery. Like she’d broken some unspoken promise to herself. 

She just felt downright unclean.

She wiggled beneath him awkwardly and he shifted so she could slide out from under him. But he didn’t bother getting up, just watching her with half-lidded eyes as she reached down to grab her underwear. She pulled them on quickly, trying not to cringe at the way the cool, damp material felt against her, and then picked her jeans up.

“You’re not staying?”

She ignored his almost offended tone and slid one leg into her pants, followed by the other.

“You know I can’t. I’ve got Henry.”

“Well, yeah, but…” He pushed himself up to sit and removed his condom as Emma buttoned her jeans. “I mean, it’s not like the kid’s alone right now.” 

Her eyes widened incredulously as she looked over at him. He shrugged sheepishly, as though his suggestion wasn’t a completely idiotic thing to say.

“Killian isn’t a babysitter, Walsh. He likes taking care of Henry, but I’d never push that responsibility on him just so I can stay the night with you.”

His brow creased with anger, but honestly with no clothes on and a used condom dangling from one hand, he was incapable of looking as intimidating as he probably wanted.

“Explain to me how letting David take care of him overnight while you get drunk with your girlfriends is okay, but somehow spending a night with your boyfriend is a totally unreasonable thing to ask a friend to babysit for.”

She huffed indignantly, pissed that Walsh had called her out on that. With a furious shake of her head, she slid on her bra and clasped it into place, then yanked her shirt over her arms.

“That was a _planned_ trip,” she stressed, even though she distinctly remembered being surprised by David showing up at her door with camping gear. God, she just couldn’t stop lying to him. “David agreed ahead of time. Killian is expecting me back tonight.”

“Oh, _Killian_ is expecting you back?”

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, counting backwards from ten slowly in her mind before responding.

“Yes. Because my son is with him and he never agreed to watch him, _alone_ , overnight.” 

She hoped the look she was shooting him would be enough to end the conversation and it seemed to work. Walsh’s shoulders slumped a little and he deflated. He went to wipe at his forehead, but paused a few inches away when he realized he still had the condom in his hand. (Had Emma been in a better mood, she’d have definitely laughed.)

He grumbled in disgust and then stalked off to the bathroom to dispose of it and clean himself off. Emma used that time to button up her shirt and put her socks and boots back on.

When he came back out, he wore his blue cotton bathrobe, the sash loosely tied around his waist. Emma was pleased that he looked quite a bit more contrite, rubbing the back of his head as he worked his way back over to her. 

“Look, I’m sorry for pushing. I know that… that being a mom comes first, and I’ll respect that.”

“Good.”

She swayed a little, unsure what her next move was. She was still pissed. And still ashamed. And still struggling with her feelings.

And still _maddeningly_ tense. A quick, hard fuck with her boyfriend and she hadn’t even managed to come. And she kind of felt like she needed to if she wanted to return to sanity anytime soon.

“Uh… so, let me get dressed and I guess I’ll drive you home.”

“No,” she said harshly, crossing her arms and hugging her waist self-consciously. His expression warped into hurt and confused and she sighed, not really feeling the need to argue further. She softened her tone. “No. Don’t worry about it. I’ll walk. It’s not that far.”

“Are you sure? I mean, it’s cold out and-“

“I’m sure,” she interrupted. “I think it’ll be good to clear my head.”

There was a lengthy moment of silence before he agreed, trailing awkwardly after her as she went to his front door.

“Emma.” He grasped her wrist loosely and she reluctantly turned to him, making note of the uneasy expression on his face. “We’re good, right?”

She swallowed thickly.

She could say no. She could tell him right now that they were far from good – that their entire relationship was a farce and that she wanted nothing more than to just let things fizzle out.

“Yeah,” she said instead. “We’re good.”

She gave his cheek a soft peck and then turned on her heel and left.

But she didn’t head towards her apartment. No, not yet.

It was about a ten-minute walk from Walsh’s apartment to the sheriff’s station. She pulled her keys from her pocket and her chilled fingers shook as she unlocked the heavy door. She used her shoulder to push it open and she didn’t even bother turning the overhead lights on.

She used the ambient light from her cell phone to guide her through the station back to her office. She unlocked that as well, tossing her keys on her desk and then reaching over to flip her desk lamp on.

Her jacket was quickly shed and hung over the back of her desk chair and she wasted no time in removing her boots and jeans. Her underwear was soaked and she tossed them into one of her desk drawers to worry about at a later time.

Now completely exposed from the waist down, she sat down and leaned back, hitching one leg over the arm of the chair for easy access.

Her fingers deftly slid over her throbbing clit and she gasped out a strained moan, already feeling her arousal springing back into action.

She worked herself up with hard strokes, paying no heed to how the moisture from her arousal was slowly dripping onto the cushion of her work chair. She spread her folds and squeezed her clit between the lengths of two fingers, rubbing them back and forth, tugging gently.

Her free hand busied itself with massaging her breasts through the layers of clothing and she let her head fall back as she pleasured herself.

She realized with a jolt that somewhere in one of her desk drawers was a vibrating back massager. It had been a gift from David during a very stressful week several months back, just something to help her relax. She searched through a few different drawers before she found it hiding underneath a half-empty bag of leftover Halloween candy that she may or may not have hoarded.

It almost looked like a showerhead, with a slim handle and a larger, oblong-shaped head. She clicked the button on the side, but nothing happened.

With a frustrated groan, she realized she’d taken the batteries out because her flashlight had died and she needed that to do her job. She opened her top desk drawer, shoving several things around until she could get to her flashlight, then – with almost lightning speed – divested it of its batteries and returned them to the (ridiculously phallic, now that her mind was already in the gutter) back massager.

Oh, glorious hell.

 _This_ is what she needed, she thought, as the vibrating head came down against her slick flesh. Not some unsatisfying, almost repellant sex with Walsh. 

She did have an actual vibrator at her apartment, tucked away in a box beneath her bed. But honestly, perhaps this one was better. The settings allowed for various speeds and all Emma could do was close her eyes and sink back into the chair as the pulsating head rubbed her just right.

What would he do if he saw her like this – splayed out and wanton, using a toy to play with herself? Would he watch? 

Would he give her a show in return?

Her chest heaved with each ragged, whimpering breath as she conjured up an image of him curling his fingers around his cock, stroking himself with the same rhythm she was using to roll the massager over her core.

She let her fingers join in, pushing and tugging her folds to run the tip of the toy over her entrance and back up to her clit over and over. 

His stare would be intoxicating. It made her hot and bothered just thinking about it, about how he’d watch every little motion, his tongue swiping lasciviously over his bottom lip as she pleasured herself. He’d pump himself harder and faster just to tease her.

Already she could feel a good, solid orgasm coming on. She supposed that that’s what happened when one spends a good two weeks almost constantly aroused by someone who was none the wiser. Pent up sexual frustration was infuriating, not to mention unhealthy. 

She hissed as she found a particularly pleasurable angle and just held it, every muscle in her body tensing in preparation for her oncoming release. 

Fuck, and what a release it was. There was a loud, nearly screeching noise ringing in her ears and it took her a few seconds to realize that it was _her_. Little spots danced behind her lids as she rode through it, her fists clenching hard and her face contorted almost into a pained expression.

When it finally died down, just small, leftover tremors working their way through her spent muscles, she practically melted into her seat. 

She was hot. So hot. Her shirt was sticking uncomfortably to her skin and her bra felt too tight, but they were nothing compared to the bliss she felt at finally, _finally_ getting some relief.

She spent nearly ten minutes without moving from that spot. It wasn’t exactly a comfortable position, but with her whole body feeling pleasantly used and the chilled air slowly bringing her body temperature back down, she just needed to take a few moments to let herself rest.

But then began the cleanup.

And while her body had thoroughly been sated, her heart remained uneasy. As she began wiping everything down with the tissues on her desk, things began to sink in.

She was dating a man she didn’t love while pining for her best friend – a man who had not a clue of her feelings. She’d slept with a man she didn’t love while fantasizing about her best friend. And now, she’d taken matters quite literally into her own hands because the rough, emotionless sex had done absolutely nothing for her. 

She was ashamed of herself and her actions and even of her own feelings.

She wasn’t being fair to _anyone_. Not Walsh. Not Killian. Not even herself. As for how exactly to change that… she still wasn’t entirely sure.

The walk home took nearly half an hour because of her detour to the station. By the time she made it back to her apartment, her steps were sluggish and she was shivering. She just wanted a nice mug of steaming hot cocoa and to lie down under a mound of covers and forget this night even happened. 

As quietly as she could, she opened her front door, not wanting to be loud in case Killian was sleeping. God, she hoped he was sleeping.

No such luck.

As soon as she stepped inside, he was hopping up from the couch and coming towards her to take her jacket, like the gentleman he was.

She awkwardly took a step back, deeply and fiercely terrified that he might actually be able to smell the sex on her.

“Emma?” Her throat tightened just a bit at the concern in his cadence and the gentle crease in his brow, and she reluctantly allowed him to help her out of her jacket, which he immediately hung one of the hooks in the entryway. He obviously took note of her pinked ears and nose and concernedly brushed his palm across her cheek. “You’re freezing, love. Are you all right?”

The Universe was really testing her patience. And her self-control, for that matter. How the hell was she supposed to feel when her stupid, wonderful, ridiculous, perfect best friend was so kind and caring to her when she had just spent the better part of her date night mentally defiling him?

He pulled her closer, rubbing her arms and back, trying to use friction to increase her body temperature, and she chuckled disbelievingly into his chest.

“Walked home.”

“What?” he gasped, pulling back to look her in the eyes. He looked appalled. “He made you _walk_ home?”

“No, he offered to drive. I just said no.”

Confusion took over his concerned expression and Emma pursed her lips. She wasn’t about to go into detail.

“Did you have a fight?” he asked hesitantly, brushing her hair over her shoulder. God, she loved when he did that. No. She hated it. She hated that she loved it.

“Not exactly…” She coughed a bit to clear her throat and then shook her head. “Can we maybe not talk about it?”

“Of course, love.” She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t push for more information. He always backed off if she showed even the slightest unease. He smiled then, stepping back to grab the blanket draped over the back of the couch and then wrapping it around her shoulders like a cape. “Why don’t you warm up and I’ll make you some cocoa?” 

She sighed, cuddling into the warm fleece. How the hell did he know exactly what she wanted? It was a complete mystery. 

After toeing off her boots, she padded down the hall as Killian went to the kitchen, closing her bedroom door behind her so she could change out of her disgusting clothes and into clean pajamas. Before leaving her room, she pulled his blanket against her.

It smelled like him.

She held it to her face, inhaling deeply and sighing at the pleasant high it gave her. And who cared if it was creepy and weird, sniffing the scent of her best friend from the material he slept in? Nobody was watching. And it wasn’t like she was hoarding his things for her own personal use or anything. (Although with the kind of behavior she’d partaken in this evening, she wouldn’t put it past herself to do just that.)

Then she pulled the blanket back over her shoulders and returned to the living room where Killian was seated on the couch and holding two full mugs of her favorite drink, a gentle smile pulling at his lips.

The lips she really wanted to kiss.

She fought hard to shove those thoughts down and joined him, accepting the mug he held out to her. There was a small dollop of whipped cream on top, lightly sprinkled with cinnamon. 

She sipped a small amount of the hot drink into her mouth, licking the whipped cream from her upper lip. As usual, it was rich and chocolaty, with just the right amount of cinnamon to spice it to her liking. She turned to him with a ‘thank you’ poised on her lips, but it died out when she realized he was staring at her.

His eyes darted between hers nervously and he looked like there was something he wanted to say but he was stubbornly keeping quiet. Eventually he just chuckled warmly and offered her a small half-smile, then slid his hand down her arm and tangled their fingers together.

She raised a brow, hopefully hiding the fact that her heart was beating wildly in her chest and she felt like her insides had turned into jelly, and he just casually shrugged. 

“You could have called me, you know,” he said quietly. “I’d have come and picked you up.”

She hid her smile by taking another sip of her drink and then shifted, leaning her head sideways against his shoulder.

“I know you would have,” she assured him. She knew she was dancing the line here – the thin one between what friends do and what she _wanted_ to do. “Thank you for this,” she murmured, holding up her mug.

“Anything for you, darling.”

She glanced up at him, and for just a few very gratifying moments, she allowed herself to believe that maybe not everything she felt for him was unreciprocated.


	4. Chapter 4

Killian felt so light and comfortable when he began to wake. Not just his body, but his _heart_. Emma Swan, long-time best friend, love of his life, kindest and strongest and most perfect woman on the face of the earth as far as he was concerned, was in love with him.

He could hardly believe it. He’d been taking things slowly, trying so hard not to come on too strong, worrying that he’d mess everything up. There had been some clear indications of attraction from her, but what he wanted was not just physical. He wanted her love. He wanted her to feel just as strongly for him as he felt for her. He didn’t want a ‘one and done’ situation that Emma would regret forever. He’d wanted her to just bloody get rid of that fool, Walsh, but was terrified that she’d resent him for ruining that relationship. He wasn’t sure if he should be happy or angry that the man turned out to be a rat bastard, taking his anger out on her the way he did.

She was still visibly shaking when she’d forced the man out of her apartment, cheeks flushed with fury… somehow still unbelievably gorgeous to him. He’d only been concerned for her wellbeing, hoping that the little scratch on her cheek was the full extent of her injuries. And then she’d just crashed into him with that passionate, breathless kiss. In a moment of weakness, he’d allowed himself to indulge in the feeling. After all, he’d been dreaming of how it would feel to kiss her for so bloody long. Could he be blamed for not resisting?

In fact, he rather regretted pushing her away. The expression on her face, the absolute horror in her eyes… it broke him. And _he_ had been the one responsible for that pain flickering in her eyes. He’d wanted to make it right immediately, but she would not have been receptive to his words while she was still in shock, so unsure, and possibly afraid that she’d crossed some line that they could never come back from. So he’d left at her urging, just to let her calm down and to get his own stormy thoughts under control.

He’d forgotten his phone before rushing out, only bothering to slip on his jacket and shoes, so he did make a point of swinging by Hank’s to see if Henry had someone to pick him up. Mary Margaret had been there, luckily. He loved the boy, truly, and on any other day he’d gladly have taken him. But he had really needed some time alone.

He’d written the letter to her after that, huddled into the corner booth at Granny’s, nursing only a glass of water with the ice all half-melted. His right hand had been jittery and unsteady with both nerves and lack of practice, but the words came easily. He had to get it all out, to let her know where he was coming from. If that kiss had meant something to her, he’d have to make sure his own affections were clear.

He’d slipped the letter under her door, hovering for a few minutes while debating whether or not to just wait outside her apartment.

But fear got the best of him. So he’d spent the rest of the day just wandering around the town, walking along the docks, through the streets, even taking one of the easier hiking trails through the forest to clear his mind. By dusk, his legs were sore and he just found a little wooden bench in a mostly deserted part of town and sat there. He hadn’t moved for hours, just thinking. Worrying, really. Hoping, a little bit.

He’d known that Emma would be waiting for him to return so they could talk, but his legs wouldn’t move, stubbornly keeping him glued to the seat. Because what if this was the moment he’d been dreading? What if today was the last day that Emma Swan was his best friend? What if irreparable damage had been done to their relationship?

It wasn’t until he glanced up at the clock tower in the distance and realized that it was less than half an hour to midnight that he forced himself up. He had no intention of going back on his word and leaving his friend hanging. They needed to talk things out, clear the air. Whether that meant something good or something horrible for him, he hadn’t been entirely sure at the time.

Reading her letter had been a truly surreal experience. He’d pulled it from the door, absolutely petrified that she might have chosen to write him a goodbye, choking on his own breaths at the thought of her feeling betrayed and hurt over what his letter had revealed.

But it wasn’t a goodbye. Gods, it was the  _opposite_  of a goodbye.

He’d collapsed to the hall floor mid-way through reading, praying that she wasn’t able to hear his choked, hushed cries through the door. It had been an incredible revelation, learning that they had both been in love with each other all this time.

(He wished he’d come here sooner. He wasted so much bloody time.) 

When he’d finally managed to pull himself together, wiping the back of his hand over his damp cheeks to try and regain some semblance of composure, he hesitantly entered the apartment, prepared for his love to be waiting for him as it had said in her letter. 

She’d been sound asleep.

And he hadn’t been able to hold back the wide, contented grin that tugged the corners of his lips up into his cheeks, because she had been so goddamned cute, curled up on the couch and hugging his pillow snugly to her chest. She  _had_  been waiting for him, but obviously he’d made her wait too long. He placed her letter down next to his on the coffee table and gently pried the pillow from her arms and then scooped her up, trying not to jostle her.

Her arms and legs had been covered in goose bumps and her fingers and toes felt like little icicles. Clearly, he’d needed to warm her up.

As he tucked her beneath the covers on her bed, he promised himself that he’d never let her feel cold and alone again. He shrugged off his jacket and slipped out of his socks and shoes, then settled in behind her, nearly sobbing in relief at the feeling of cradling her body against his. He’d feared that he might not ever get a chance to hold her like this again.

And it had been _so_ much better knowing that she loved him. She wanted him.

He’d gotten to kiss her even more after that. First in the bed after she’d awoken, then on their feet after their confessions, then in the kitchen and on the couch in the living room. It was like a dream. Being able to openly express his love to her was freeing.

He vaguely remembered falling asleep with his head cradled in her lap, but now there was clearly a pillow providing cushion beneath his cheek.

But her fingers were running gently through his hair and he could feel her warmth cocooning him.

He scrunched his brow and slowly peeled his eyes open. 

She was half propped up on her elbow, her hand pressing into the apple of her cheek. Morning sunlight from the windows cast an angelic glow around her messy golden locks, but it was her dreamy smile that had him questioning if he was, indeed, in the presence of a divine goddess.

“Good morning,” she whispered. Her hand shifted to delicately cup his jaw and she leaned down, brushing a feather-light kiss against his lips. He smiled into it.

It was total bliss.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this happy, if ever at all.

As he fully awakened and became aware of himself and his surroundings, he realized that Emma’s body was flush against his own and his left arm was squeezed in between the couch cushions underneath her. His right arm was thrown around her hips overtop a blanket she must have covered them up with after he fell asleep.

Everything about it was perfect. Gods, _she_ was perfect. And she wanted him, loved him, and was gazing down at him with such tenderness and warmth that he felt like the luckiest man alive. And the world’s biggest idiot for having been oblivious to her feelings up until reading that life-altering letter she’d written him the day before.

He sighed contentedly and let his eyes flutter shut once more.

“G’morning,” he mumbled, exhaustion tinting his voice a tad raspy. Her fingers gently stroked his cheek and his chest rumbled with soundless laughter, so pleased and still coming to terms with the new status of their relationship. He shifted his arm and rubbed his palm over the small of her back.

She rewarded his sleepy affection with small, pleasantly gentle kisses over his brow and temple, across his cheekbone, at the bridge of his nose, and finally, again over his lips. With a slight tilt of his head, he let her deepen it, mouths falling open as they both drifted into a steady, languid pace.

She skillfully swept her tongue between his lips, the tip running along the bottom edge of his upper teeth. He released a shaky breath, feeling a familiar heat building in his gut and pinpricks in his fingertips, and wrapped his lips around her tongue, sucking it further into his mouth.

It took nothing but the small, throaty whimper of a sound from her and he swiftly lost the battle to stave off his growing arousal, shifting uncomfortably as he adjusted himself so she wouldn’t feel him pressing against her.

A morning make-out session did not mean Emma was asking for him to jump her and he reminded himself that after pining for years and years, he could certainly stand to wait a little longer. He could wait until he knew she was ready for that.

Reluctantly, he relaxed back into the couch, putting some distance between their lips. Both of their chests were heaving and he could see the red flush of her cheeks. He adored her like no other. And upon thinking back to where he was a month ago, he couldn’t help the breathy laughter from bubbling over.

“What?” she muttered between pants, sliding her forehead down over his cheekbone. He continued to shake with laughter, gently thumbing her hip through her t-shirt. “Is this another ‘I’m kissing Emma Swan’ thing?”

“No. Well, yes, I’m still getting used to that. But I was just thinking about how utterly smug Liam is going to be about this, the bastard.”

Emma’s glowing smile showed no pity for him.

“Well, he did convince you to come here, right?”

“Aye,” he murmured lowly, trying and failing to hide his grin. “Damn. I suppose I deserve every bit of his inevitable I-told-you-so’s.”

Emma’s musical laugh echoed through the empty apartment and Killian joined her. Slowly, he let his chuckles dissolve away as he settled back into the comfortable warmth between them. The gentle rolling of his thumb over her hip turned into circles of his palm across her sides. He pulled her closer with his half-asleep left arm, his hand pressing flat against her lower back. She sighed against him, her body relaxing as his right hand moved higher. He smoothed his fingertips over her shoulder, then ran them through her hair, twirling the soft tresses between his fingers.

She was not idle as he gave her his lazy, affectionate attention. Her nose nudged softly against his neck and her lips brushed his collarbone, her warm, moist breaths tickling his skin. One hand wiggled beneath the shoulder her head was laying on as the other settled over his chest. She splayed her fingers and then brought them back together, lightly tugging the fabric of his shirt.

Killian grinned as Emma hummed contentedly, dipping her hand beneath the wrinkled material and curling her fingers to scratch through his chest hair. It was so light it actually tickled a bit, his pecs jumping involuntarily. He could feel Emma’s cheek rounding with her smile against his shoulder and he laid a kiss into her hair.

If he could spend every morning just like this for the rest of his life, he’d die a happy man.

“What time is it, love?”

“Nine-ish.”

“Hmm… Henry’s probably up by now.”

“He is. I texted Mary Margaret a little while ago.”

“Oh?” He craned his neck so he could look down at her and she met his gaze. “Shall we go upstairs and get him?”

An odd expression crossed her features as she nervously licked her lips and averted her gaze. He might have been worried if he hadn’t seen her fighting a smile.

“We _could_ …”

A sudden warmth painted her cheeks red and she nibbled at her lower lip, the corners of her mouth curving with her bashful grin. Killian followed the motion with his eyes, his brow quirking as he swallowed.

“I’m sensing a ‘but’ there,” he murmured, his throat suddenly tight.

“Well… I thought… I _hoped_ …” She slowly, deliberately trailed the tip of her index finger from his Adam’s apple down his chest, her eyes locking with his as she reached the V of his Henley’s collar. Her finger curled underneath and pulled downward on the stretchy material and Killian could feel his heart racing and his gut churning with desire. “… maybe you’d want to sleep in late?”

He wasn’t so daft that he misunderstood her meaning. Even if he had, the way she began gliding her bent leg up his side and finally settling her thigh over his hip didn’t leave much up for misinterpretation. 

He was still wearing his clothes from the day before and he cursed the way his jeans seemed to constrict in all the worst places.

“Emma?” he whispered, voice edging on desperate.

There was no use in trying to hide his arousal from her; he was growing achingly hard and her hips were slowly shifting up and over his. He automatically rolled fully onto his back, allowing her to sit astride him. He suspected at this point that there was no reason to try and hide it anyway. Her blown pupils and hot skin and slowly rolling hips suggested that Emma was quite receptive to his body’s natural response to her nearness. He let his right hand wander beneath the blanket, trailing his fingertips up her bare thigh ( _Gods_ , so soft and warm) as she settled above him, and his left held steady on her hip.

Perhaps she was ready after all. He wasn’t about to push her away – not again; not that he had any desire to do so in the first place.

She cupped his jaw with both hands, smoothing her thumbs across his cheeks as she leaned into him further, her lips seeking his. Over and over she kissed him, and his mind became a clouded, foggy mess of _want_.

He never imagined that things would progress this way – not that he was complaining; he was internally cheering at this turn of events.

He grunted and breathed out roughly as she ground down over him. Even through their clothes, the feeling was incredible. She was grinding her hips against his, her core pressing tight against his erection, and he was so honed in on that feeling and the sheer awe at having her want him this way that he had to squeeze his eyes shut, praying that this was real and not some wildly detailed daydream that he’d concocted to cope with loving her unrequitedly.

But it definitely wasn’t.

And he didn’t even care how ridiculous it was, passionately dry-humping on her couch like teenagers, less than a day after their first kiss, less than twelve hours after verbally confessing their feelings for one another. It was already being recorded in his mind, preparing to be filed away under _The Greatest Things to Ever Happen to Killian Jones_.

When Emma’s hand wiggled down between their bodies and cupped him through his jeans, he just about lost it. He bit down on her lower lip – not enough to bring her pain, but enough to produce a long, guttural moan to rise from her throat, a sound that shook him to his core.

In that moment, it was as if he had thrown fuel on the flame, Emma’s movements picking up pace, her hands frantically fumbling with his button and zipper. With very little warning, her hand was there, warm and wrapped around his rigid cock beneath his underwear, her grip just firm enough.

“ _Gods_ ,” he meant to say, but it came out more like a choked breath against her mouth.

Those delicate fingers ran over his length, her thumb probing beneath the belled head and then up over the tip. Curses, all muffled, fell from his lips as he rolled himself up into her hand to feel _more_.

She shifted above him, breaking away from their kisses to look down at where she was holding him. He could physically see her shuddering as she pumped him several times, just watching.

He was so focused on how fucking turned on he was, how incredible her hand felt, that he completely missed the spark in her eye and the way she shifted above him with clear intent.

She barely had his jeans and underwear tugged down his hips before she was shoving aside her panties and shorts. In one swift motion she grabbed him and was sinking down onto him.

 _Wet_. She was so wet and _tight_ and burning hot and _fucking hell_ , he gasped aloud at the feeling.

 _Breathe_ , he told himself.

She was glorious and he was completely at her mercy and there was nowhere on this good earth that he’d rather be. Sheathed inside of Emma Swan…

And then a siren went off in his head.

“Shit. Emma, wait,” he managed to croak, struggling to keep his eyes from squeezing shut from the delicious feeling of being inside of her.

Her eyes snapped open wide and her face quickly lost its lovely red flush, paling instantly.

“Oh, God, fuck, I’m sorry. Is this too fast? I didn’t even- I wasn’t thinking-“ She gasped and made to move off of him, but he held her firmly in place.

Bloody hell. This woman was sure to drive him mad one of these days.

“Shh, Emma, it’s fine,” he assured her, offering a soft, if slightly strained, smile. “It isn’t too fast at all, love. Believe me. I have been waiting for this moment for much longer than I care to admit to you.” She visibly (and physically – Gods, he could feel her around him) relaxed, but a stubborn crease remained on her forehead. “It’s just… we’re not using a condom.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Understanding and a tinge of embarrassment colored her features and she cringed a little as she shrugged, but made no attempt to get off of him. “I don’t… I mean, I don’t keep any here. Walsh never came over to-“ She gasped and clapped her hands over her mouth, shifting backwards a little and unintentionally taking him deeper. Killian struggled not to let out a strangled noise of pleasure, instead breathing out slowly through his nose as his eyes fell shut momentarily. “Oh- fuck. I’m the worst. I can’t believe I just-“

She continued to ramble apologies to him about mentioning her ex at a time like this, but Killian found it difficult to care about that, as with every little motion she made in her panicky state she sent little pleasant reverberations down to where they were connected. His head slumped back against the pillow and he tried to hold her hips still – a strenuous task with very little use in one hand.

“Emma,” he finally laughed, interrupting her (really, quite adorable) babbling. He let out a strained breath, taking note of the pretty pink tone of her face and what little skin he could see above the neckline of her t-shirt. She looked completely abashed and he wanted to reassure her, but at the same time he really just needed to know if they needed to stop before he burst into flames. “Darling, _please_. I’m not mad. Just please tell me if this is okay.”

He gestured between them and she lowered her hands from her face, her beautiful jade eyes shimmering as they reflected the sunlight filtering through the room in soft rays.

“You’re clean?” she asked. It took him a moment to understand, but then he nodded tersely. She swallowed audibly and the noise just about made him shudder. “Me, too.”

It sounded like an ‘okay,’ but he much preferred a definitive answer.

“Emma?” 

Her hands came to rest on his chest and she leaned forward, her thighs clenching around his hips as her face came ever closer to his own. The tip of her nose nudged his cheek and he sighed as her warm breath blew over his lips.

“I’m on birth control, so we’re good,” she whispered. Perhaps not the sexiest choice of words, but Killian couldn’t care less, as she immediately slanted her mouth over his. His response was prompt and very enthusiastic, hopefully making his own desires clear to her.

And then all rational thought went out the window, for both of them it seemed.

Emma Swan was sensual and demanding, gyrating and lifting her hips before forcefully sliding down over him repeatedly, moaning into his mouth, digging her fingers into his shoulders and gripping roughly at the collar of his shirt. She made soft little noises at the drag of his shaft inside of her and it pulled at something primal and urgent deep in Killian’s gut. His breathing staggered at the positively indecent sounds caused by their lovemaking, the wet slapping and pleasured sighs and low squeaking of the springs beneath the couch cushions.

He was overwhelmed with sensation. She was soaked and snug and so _good_ around his cock – so much better than any fantasy, and he’d had his fair share of those – relentless with her movements, rocking quickly, steadily, with a clear lack of restraint that only made him burn hotter. Every little touch sent him deeper into a haze of lust and he struggled to keep up, rubbing his hands over her sides and across her breasts, palming them as he tried his best to drive his hips upward. It was a little awkward with his legs straight and Emma holding him down. 

“God, _fuck_ , Killian,” she hissed, her motions stuttering as she must have found a particularly enjoyable angle. It was fantastic for him, too, and there was a tingling, prickly sensation under his skin that he couldn’t quite name. Her eyes were glazed over and unfocused, but staring directly into his as if she were trapped, frozen by his gaze and the mounting pleasure. He licked his lips, eyes darting between hers, overcome with lust and love and such ridiculously warm affection for this woman that he was quite sure he could never express it in words. 

“You feel so bloody good, Emma,” he said instead. Still a truth, but not the one he’d wished to speak. His throat was dry and his voice came out a raspy whisper, but his love didn’t appear to mind, gasping as he shifted restlessly below her.

His right hand slid beneath the hem of her underwear, fingers massaging the warm flesh of her shapely arse. He squeezed and pulled, gripping as he chased her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed and she breathed into him, tongues slick against each other, teeth clacking in their haste.

More than a few times, he had to remind himself that this was Emma Swan fucking him into her couch cushions. It was Emma Swan’s teeth biting lightly into his bottom lip, then leaving nips over his jaw and neck, just on the pleasant side of pain. It was Emma Swan he was repeatedly being sheathed inside, Emma Swan’s clit that his fingertips sought as he fumbled with the material of her panties and shorts, Emma Swan’s breasts bobbing above him with every thrust, her stiffened nipples visible through her shirt, Emma Swan’s filthy curses and deep sighs and long, throaty moans and nonsensical mumbles.

Emma Swan in his arms, giving him pleasure, taking her own.

Crying during sex was probably a turn-off, right? He took a deep breath through his nose, shutting his eyes as she kissed him again, a quick, messy, dirty fusing of their mouths that returned his thoughts to the more physical task at hand.

Her thighs were trembling, the muscles spasming from overuse, shuddering beneath his fingertips every time their bodies met with a loud _slap_. Sweat beaded on her forehead and a sheen of it over her skin left it slippery, forcing him to lose his grip on her a few times. 

One solid push to his chest and she lifted her upper body away from him, now sitting as she rode him, giving him much easier access to her clit. He slid his thumb over it in tight circles, his fingers wet with her arousal and easily gliding through her folds and over her soft bud.

“Ohmygod,” she muttered in one quick breath, eyes appearing to roll back in her head. “Fuuuuck, don’t stop, please, Killian.”

“Wasn’t- _fuck_ … planning on it, love,” he grunted, sliding his left hand beneath her shirt, feeling the firm muscles of her abdomen beneath the sticky, sweaty, but silky smooth skin. He made it to the underside of her breast, moving higher, his bumpy, scarred palm kneading as best he could without cramping. His right hand remained preoccupied below, rolling and pressing her clit, his fingertips mere centimeters from where their bodies were joined.

It was so much, so good, so bloody incredible, but somehow not enough.

“More.”

It was an order, her voice clear despite the heavy breaths that followed, and the sentiment was not one-sided. He needed more, too. He needed sharper, deeper, faster.

He didn’t have room flip them over on her couch without a significant struggle, but he did manage to sit himself up, offering Emma an apologetic smile when she whimpered at the loss of his touch. Then he wrapped his arms around her waist and maneuvered them both into a more functional position, his back against the back of the couch and his feet now flat on the floor, giving him the ability to control his own movements better.

Emma had no objections, her arms winding around his neck as he smoothed his hands up her back beneath her shirt. Their lips met again in a heated frenzy, and this time, when Emma restarted her movements, Killian pushed his own hips upward to slam into her even harder.

The rippling moan that tore itself from her throat and broke their kiss was quite possibly the sexiest thing he had ever heard in his entire bloody life. If he’d had any less self-control, he would not have been able to delay his orgasm.

Their pace was frantic and their motions sloppy and wild. Emma’s name fell from his lips almost like a prayer, and he tried to distract himself from his impending release by reaching between them again to bring her closer to hers.

She leaned backwards, gripping at his shoulder with one hand to keep from falling, the other finding its place behind her, propped up on his knee. Killian snapped his hips up roughly, eyes focusing on her clothed breasts, his mouth watering.

Without much forethought, just pure want guiding his actions, he lunged forward and wrapped his lips around one of her nipples, wetting the fabric of her shirt with his tongue. He wished he could remove the barriers between them but he couldn’t find the will to do so. Emma’s cries and whimpers were loud and beautiful and he wanted to consume her.

“Killian,” she gasped, her hand traveling to his hair, fingers gripping. His head was yanked backwards on a sharp thrust and he growled before meeting her gaze.

Fuck, she was so gorgeous. Swirling strands of her hair stuck to her temples and cheeks, her brows pinched in gratification, her jaw hanging open, lips rounded around a breathy moan. And he knew, he could tell from the hitch in her voice and the straining of her muscles that she was on the edge, and _Gods_ did he want to bring her to completion.

“I fucking _love you_ , Emma,” he practically sobbed out, so very near to his own orgasm, the wet slide of her walls overwhelming and intoxicating.

With that, she trembled in his arms, her internal muscles clenching and quivering around his cock, her voice breaking as she whimpered his name. His jaw clenched as she convulsed through her release, unraveling before him. He hissed quietly, his fingers continuing their dance over her slick sex to carry her through it.

He kept rutting up into her, straining as he held off as long as he possibly could until he just couldn’t anymore. Emma’s body slumped forward at the very moment he lost himself, crying out a harsh groan and breathing loud, heavy pants as he circled his arms around her waist and spurted his release inside of her.

Her hands were immediately in his hair, brushing gently through his dark locks, and her nose pressed into his neck as his body relaxed and he sunk back into the couch.

He didn’t let her go. His arms stayed firmly around her and she made no protest. They were both panting heavily as they came down, chests heaving, her breasts pressing against him with every breath. She breathed against his skin and it was oddly comforting, offering further proof to Killian that he _was_ actually here with her, that she was real, that he’d done what he’d wanted so desperately to do for years – confess his love and have her love him in return. 

Emma’s nose skimmed up the side of his neck to his ear and she pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. He grinned into her shoulder, squeezing her waist tightly. Her body shook and he smiled wider as he heard her let out a feminine giggle, her lips still brushing over his days-old scruff.

“Sorry,” she said, finally pulling back just enough to press her forehead down against his, biting her kiss-swollen lip. She was smiling, practically glowing, and he thought she didn’t look the least bit sorry at all.

“For what, exactly?” he asked, feeling his lips tugging even higher.

She flushed beautifully and shyly buried her face against his neck once more.

“Jumping you?” He could almost hear her cringe.

 _Silly woman_.

“Darling, did it seem in any way like I was complaining?” He nudged her away so he could look into her eyes. “Because I definitely was not.”

“No… but… I mean, I guess I thought I had more self-control. It wasn’t my intention to, like…” She vaguely gestured to the air around them and he raised a brow, torn between the urge to reassure her and the urge to tease.

He didn’t have to decide immediately, as a more pressing matter was brought to his attention.

As pleasant as it was being inside her, he was becoming flaccid and their combined fluids were leaking out and leaving a rather sticky and uncomfortable residue across their skin and clothes. She seemed to notice at the same time, glancing down between them, looking slightly embarrassed.

She cleared her throat and slowly lifted herself up and off of him and he reluctantly released her in favor of shimmying his pants and underwear back into place, ignoring the damp stain on both as he watched Emma adjust her shorts, her fingers skimming beneath the fabric.

“I’ll, uh, go clean myself up.”

The words were barely out before she turned around and scurried off down the hall.

Okay. Well, at least they’d had a few seconds of afterglow. Honestly, he’d hoped that the post-sex experience would be a bit more romantic, maybe even sensual. He’d liked to have cleaned her up himself, had she been receptive to the idea. Instead, it seemed, she’d lost her nerve. Which was a little odd, given how thoroughly she had ridden him not moments before. Had he given her the impression that he’d just gone along with it halfheartedly?

 _Screw it_ , he thought, pushing himself up from the couch and padding down the hall to find her.

“Emma?” No response, but he heard her shuffling around in the bathroom so he leaned on the wall next to the door and knocked once with the back of his knuckles. “Love, if I didn’t make myself clear before on how very much I enjoyed that, I can do so right now.”

He heard a short sigh and he tilted his head as she pulled the door open just a sliver, just enough for him to see the teary shine to her eyes. In an instant, he was gently forcing the door open so he could step inside. 

His hands cradled her face and he brought his face close to hers, his brow creased with worry.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she said, smiling shakily. His thumbs brushed across her cheeks.

“Emma, please. If I’ve done something-“

“No!” she interrupted, and his jaw snapped shut. She sniffled and then continued, more softly. “No, that’s… it’s not…” A chuckle escaped her lips and she shook her head, beaming despite her tears. “Sorry, it’s just that I’m a little emotional I guess? I’ve wanted this for so long and it’s a little overwhelming.”

“Ah. That, my dear, is something I understand completely,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. Her hands settled on his chest and he bumped his nose against hers.

“Yeah?”

“Of course,” he said before pressing slow, loving kisses to each cheek and then over her lips. As her eyes fluttered open, he smirked and quirked a brow. “In fact, I have gone over it in my mind in _great_ detail many times over.”

He could almost see the curious spark lighting in her eyes and was glad to see her smiling at his admission.

“Have you now?” she asked, gliding her hands up his chest to wind her arms around his neck. “And?”

“And what?” He feigned innocence, making her smile even wider.

“What exactly did you imagine? How did the real deal compare?”

“Well,” he began, drawing out the word to tease, “admittedly, in my fantasies we typically managed to take our clothes off first.” She pursed her lips, cheeks tinting pink. It was her fault, after all, that they didn’t get to do that. “But I promise you not a damn thing could ever compare to the reality of you, Emma Swan.”

His eyes closed as she pulled him into a hug. His fingers gripped her shirt, bunching the material at her waist, and he inhaled deeply, catching the pure scent of her from her messy, wavy hair.

“I love you.”

Gods, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get over the floating, weightless feeling in his chest upon hearing her speak those words to him.

“And I, you.”

They didn’t move for several long minutes, just basking in the feeling of being together. _This_ was what he’d imagined the afterglow would be, though he’d have preferred that they weren’t standing in the middle of her bathroom.

“So,” she started after finally pulling away, her hands sliding slowly down the sides of his neck and over his shoulders. She had a rather mischievous glint in her eyes and Killian loved it. “Tell me more about these… fantasies of yours.”

Oh, it was going to be like that, was it? He hummed in mock contemplation.

“Hmm. Perhaps I should just _show_ you?”

“Now?”

“Aye, now. You have something else you need to do this morning?”

Her answering smile was so light and happy and he was astounded that he could inspire such expressions.

“Not a damn thing,” she muttered, dragging his lips down to hers again.


	5. Chapter 5

She’d _meant_ for them to slowly and passionately make love following their confessions from the night before. Instead, thanks to Killian being too damn irresistible (seriously, did he even realize what he did to her just by existing?), she’d practically been unable to do anything but pounce on him like a bitch in heat.

As soon as she’d taken a good look at him, seen and felt the way he slid through her hand as she’d pumped over him, she had lost all restraint, taking all of him inside of her without so much as a gentle warning.

(He hadn’t complained. She was still pretty psyched about that.)

It had been incredible, really. She wasn’t quite sure the last time she’d had an orgasm that intense, if she ever had at all. Maybe love was the culprit. She thought, long ago, that she had been in love with Neal. Now, she wasn’t so sure that’s what it was. It couldn’t even compare to what she felt here, now, with Killian Jones.

Although she wasn’t entirely ready to say that was the only reason it was so good. Because, _goddamn_ , he knew what he was doing. And he apparently had every intention of proving that to her a second time.

“And then?” she asked, breathless again already as Killian’s lips trailed across her jaw, tasting her skin with quick darts of his tongue.

His hips pressed forward into hers and his hands were solid against her waist, slowly but forcefully backing her up towards the bed.

“And _then_ ,” he chuckled lowly, pausing his ministrations to gaze down at her, eyes half-hooded with desire. “I’d strip you bare. _Slowly_.”

“Show me.”

He trailed his hands down her sides, his nose nudging hers, lips so close but not touching, just letting his heavy breaths puff against her lips. When he reached the hem of her shirt, his fingers dipped beneath, gradually sliding up until she felt the warm, rough skin of his hands skimming across her bare stomach.

The muscles beneath his fingertips trembled, her abdomen tightening with anticipation. She loved the way his hands felt, even finding his scarred, bumpy left palm a pleasant contrast against her soft skin.

“First to go would be your shirt, darling.”

Her eyes fell shut at the low hum of his voice and she sighed as he captured her bottom lip between both of his, drawing the soft flesh gently between his teeth before releasing it. If he did that a thousand times over, she’d still never be sick of it. His tongue prodded the corner of her mouth and she tilted into it, growing ever warmer as they tasted each other again and again.

The slow drag of his fingertips up her torso made the material of her shirt bunch and fold together. Her nails dug into his biceps through his Henley and she really hoped in his fantasies he lost his clothes very soon as well.

“I’d trace my fingers over every bit of your skin,” he murmured, skimming his nose along her cheek and hovering his mouth beside her ear. Then he whispered quietly, “Find _every_ sensitive spot.”

As he brushed his palms over her ribs, his tongue dipped along her earlobe and then he brought it between his teeth. She gasped aloud, whimpering to hold back a moan because _fuck_ he had just found one without even trying, one that her exes somehow never even came close to finding despite it not being an unusual erogenous zone.

“Oh?” he hummed in delight, repeating the motion and causing her to tense, shamelessly rolling her hips against his. His hands grazed below her breasts and she arched into his touch. “Feeling good, love?”

She nodded wordlessly, caught up in moment and trying desperately not to lose her cool again. There was no doubt in her mind that if she shoved him down onto the bed and rode him hard like she had before, he wouldn’t argue, but she _wanted_ this. She wanted to know what he intended to do to her. She wanted to let him lead, to go slow this time.

“Arms up.”

Without hesitation she followed his instruction, biting her lip as he pulled her shirt over her head. Her hair tangled together and she patted it down, brushing the messy strands behind her ears as he tossed the garment to the floor.

It’s not that she was shy or nervous about what he’d think – she’d spent a lot of time sculpting this body and she was proud of the results – but even after their very pleasurable encounter on the couch, this somehow felt far more intimate. Her eyelids fluttered as she watched his expression.

He gazed at her breasts openly, his hands hovering centimeters away from her skin as if he were now afraid to touch the skin he’d teased not moments earlier. Maybe ‘afraid’ wasn’t the right term. He looked almost like he was in awe of her. He probably was, and that realization made her cheeks bloom with color.

“Perfection,” he whispered, trailing his fingers along the plump underside of each breast with a touch so feather-light it made her breath catch in her throat. Her nipples were pert and straining from the sensation, and she watched him watch her, his eyes growing darker and his breathing already slightly labored. She savored his gentle touch while simultaneously aching for him to be rougher, to _take_ her as she’d taken him.

Impatience was burning her from the inside out.

She practically whimpered, “What next?” when he continued to give her barely-there caresses, and his teeth peeked out as if he’d been hoping for her to do just that.

“Next…” His tongue darted out to wet his lips as his callused hands slid down her sides and settled at her hips. Then his fingertips toyed with the waistband of her shorts, his nails scraping lightly across her skin and causing the muscles to shudder in their path.

Instead of telling her what he intended to do next, he just _did_. Her shorts and underwear were slowly pulled together down, down, past her hips, baring her sex, and he knelt down to the floor to drag them past her knees. He lifted one of her feet and then the other, tossing aside the garments and leaving her completely exposed.

But he didn’t get back on his feet. Instead he just stared up at her like… God, she didn’t even know. It made her feel raw and open, like he’d peeled away more than just the physical layers covering her.

He knew her better than anyone in the world, including, as he’d bragged many times over, herself. But _seeing_ it now, in his eyes, in the knowing curve of his lips, made her feel closer to him than ever. He didn’t even need to be physically inside of her to be _inside_ of her, settled firmly in the pump of her heart or maybe in the depths of her soul, if souls were a thing. If they were, she was entirely certain that it was her soulmate looking up at her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

His head dipped and he leaned forward, pressing a kiss just above her right knee. Both hands smoothed a path up from her ankles to her thighs and her eyes fluttered closed as his lips traveled upward. She trembled as she reached to run her fingers through his hair and he made a soft, delighted moan when she scratched at his scalp.

She could feel wetness pooling below as he teased her with soft, reverent kisses across her legs, but not quite reaching where she was close to begging for any kind of friction. She thought she’d wanted slow, but this was _torture_.

“Killian,” she whispered, a broken plea.

He rested his forehead against her leg and chuckled breathlessly for a moment, then turned his gaze upward. His mouth was inches away from the swirls of blonde curls at the apex of her thighs, his hot breath puffing out and making her tense up in anticipation.

And then he pushed her.

Her hands shot back to catch her fall as her ass landed on the bed, and she let out an embarrassing squeak that had Killian chuckling once again as he pressed himself back against her leg, his whiskers tickling her sensitive skin.

“Rude,” she said, with no malice. He smirked and placed a soft kiss over a birthmark on her inner thigh.

“Apologies, my love.” _My love_ , she thought giddily. “Shall I endeavor to treat you more gently from now on?” Another kiss, closer this time to her center, punctuated the end of his question. It was lighter, softer. It was not enough.

She drew her lip between her teeth as he glanced up at her. God, she had always wanted him in this position, as long as she could ever remember wanting him – which was a _long_ time. Long enough that she couldn’t really picture a time when she _didn’t_ want him.

“No,” she replied, fighting a smile when she saw how pleased he was with that response.

Without much warning, he hooked his arms beneath her knees and drew her hips to the edge of the bed, and her breath left her lungs at the swift motion. When he released her, her legs fell open automatically, leaving her on full display, glistening and still reddened from their earlier round.

She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat as Killian blatantly stared, eyes glossy and mouth slightly agape. Unconsciously, she shifted, though whether it was from self-consciousness or impatience she couldn’t be entirely sure. Both, probably.

A shuddering breath passed her lips when he leaned forward, closed his eyes, and just _kissed_ her, such a gentle brush of his lips over her sex. Her own eyes fell shut as he pressed his mouth to her again, and again, all so light and tender, not at all what she was expecting but blissful still. His stubble tickled her naked flesh.

He paused and her lashes fluttered a few times as she slowly reopened her eyes. That intense, loving gaze of his was back, a little smile pulling at his lips as he looked up at her.

“You’ve no idea how many times I’ve thought of this,” he confessed, voice slightly hoarse. His fingers edged upward, skimming over her hipbones, lingering over the parallel vertical pink scars, all faded with time and toning, that marked the memory of her pregnancy. Emma could feel the reverence with which he touched them and it didn’t bother her that he took his time tracing each one, looking into her eyes as he did so. Unhurriedly, with almost teasing brushes of his fingertips and nails to her skin, he traveled downward until he brought them to rest at the creases between her center and thighs, framing her most intimate place, his thumbs moving delicately back and forth along the seam. “I wondered how you might feel. If you were as soft as I’d imagined…” The tip of his nose nudged her warm, wet inner thigh and the rest of his words came out as a murmur. “You’re softer… And more beautiful and, _Emma_ , I just want to _taste_.”

Her fingers curled, fisting the sheets as his warm, wet tongue traced between her folds, a long stripe that ended in some fancy twirl around her clit. Her hips canted forward as he repeated the motion and she released a slow, shaky breath, head falling back as he buried his nose in her curls.

As his hands slipped beneath her thighs to hold her in place, she accommodated him by moving her legs around him, her heels pressing into his upper back. Her fists clenched harder the longer he tortured her with those smooth movements, a constant down, up, around that was making her toes curl. His facial hair was so rough and prickly, but she found she _really_ loved the way it scratched against her. She ached for more.

She lifted her head to peek down and the sight did not disappoint. His whole face was flushed and his brows were furrowed in concentration – or perhaps _appreciation_ , given the rumbling noises coming from deep from his throat. She reached out to brush back the hair that had fallen over his forehead and he immediately opened his eyes. It was cliché as hell, but Emma could swear she felt something electric when their gazes locked.

Her best friend – _lover_ , she amended, because that’s what they were now (holy shit) – was enthusiastically eating her out, as he’d apparently imagined numerous times before, as _she_ had imagined, and she was at a total loss for words.

A gasp escaped her when he tilted his head and changed the pattern, his tongue delving deeper between her folds, rolling her clit back and forth with swift flicks that had her arching further into his face. She nearly cursed at him when she felt him smile against her, probably smug as hell for making her an incoherent mess in such a short span of time.

“ _God_ ,” she moaned, her knuckles blanching as his right hand gripped her ass, his teeth gently scraping over her arousal-and-saliva coated sex. He, too, groaned against her, and she managed to keep her balance on one hand and drove the other through his hair, grabbing a fistful and anchoring them together – a move that was entirely unnecessary given how determined he seemed to be to turn her into a puddle of quivering Emma. “Killian… _so good_ … ah…”

God, how the hell was he _breathing_? The thought was fleeting and she didn’t dwell on it, mostly because he was prodding the tip of his tongue past her entrance and she was wholly unprepared for the feeling of the flexible muscle lapping sinfully inside of her, for his nose pressing against her clit, for the minute vibrations she could feel from his almost constant guttural moans.

Fuck. He really was making up for lost time, wasn’t he?

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as she tried desperately to keep her hips still (hopelessly failing), her brow creasing as the pressure continued to build. That talented mouth of his was _so_ ridiculously good, and _damn_ , moving faster, and she kept chanting almost unintelligible encouragements, just a constant string of, “ _Yes, oh- there, God Killian, don’t stop, please- yes- oh- good, so good, oh_...”

Somewhere in the back of her mind she thought that with her soft cries and mutterings, with Killian’s deep hums of approval, with the periodical… _slurping_ , for lack of a better term, her room was like an echo chamber for the sweet sounds of sex. God, she was so turned on. And so goddamn close to coming that her whole body felt like it would burst into flame.

Killian picked up on this, of course. The fingertips of his right hand pressed firmly into her pliant flesh, while his left hand drifted up to the small of her back. If not for his hold on her, she might have tumbled right off the edge of the bed, especially given her inability to quell the rocking of her hips.

“Killian, I ca- can’t…”

His tongue swiped through her soaked folds a few more times, roughly, quickly, and then his sole focus was on her swollen clit, on swirling his tongue over it, flicking it up and down, back and forth, over and over and _over,_ on sucking it between his full lips until she was just- just- _there_ , waves of pleasure crashing over her, flowing and ebbing and flowing again.

Any fantasy she’d ever had of him was ruined in the wake of knowing _exactly_ what he was capable of doing to her.

For a few long, intense moments, she could only close her eyes and cry out as her whole body jerked and her orgasm made her strain against his face. She was pretty sure she said ‘fuck’ about a dozen times, but truthfully she could barely even hear herself as awash with pleasure as she was.

When she finally came back down to earth, her legs falling limp and dangling off the edge of the bed, she felt Killian rest his forehead against one of her thighs. He was panting as much as she was, taking a moment to regain his breath and his wits. She didn’t blame him.

She affectionately ran her fingers through his hair, trying to tame the wild mess she’d made of it, and felt rather than heard his responding chuckle. He drew back to look up at her and her teeth sunk sharply into her lower lip when she saw his face from nose to chin covered in a sheen of her own arousal. He clearly hadn’t held back.

With a poorly hidden smirk, he reached for the bottom of his shirt and pulled it to his face, wiping the wetness away from his skin and facial hair. Emma peeked down at his bare stomach. The line of dark hair traveling down his torso disappeared below unbuttoned and half zipped jeans, and she lazily slid one of her feet across his thigh and brushed her toes along his erection.

She gasped when he released his shirt and grasped her ankle.

“Give a man a minute,” he laughed, pulling her foot away. She raised both brows.

“Were you about to come?”

“Shh, just let me get ahold of myself, love.”

She hoped he wasn’t taking the huge grin on her face as her making fun of him. It was just… _flattering_ , that he would be on the precipice of his own release merely by giving her hers.

“Shush,” he chided, ducking his head and wiping his face again, rolling his jaw while he did so. It was probably sore after that performance.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Before he could release the hem of his Henley, she leaned forward and slipped her fingers beneath the material and tugged on it. He got the hint and helped her to remove it, then tossed it away. His chest was still slightly heaving and she appreciated his state of undress, humming as she scraped her fingernails through the dark, soft whorls of hair on his chest.

He grinned up at her and then began to rise off his haunches, his hands sliding up her legs and onto the bed beside her hips.

“You remember… a week ago?” she muttered, eyelids fluttering as Killian began to kiss his way up her torso, his lips sticky and wet against her abdomen, his tongue dipping into her navel, his teeth scraping at her ribs. She released a ragged breath when he gently nipped at the underside of one of her breasts.

“Remember what, darling?” He swirled his tongue around her rosy, pert nipple, then wrapped his entire mouth around it, and she gripped at his shoulders.

“You- ah… When you came out of the shower.” The tip of his tongue rolled back and forth a few times before he released her with a wet smack. “You were wet. And so…” She trailed off, her hands massaging up his shoulders to his neck.

“Aye.” He nosed along her sternum as he shifted to her other breast. “I recall it quite vividly. I was hard as a rock when I made it back to the bathroom. Gods, did I want you.”

Emma gulped as he continued to lavish her breast with his mouth, his stubble scratching around it. “M-me too. Wanted you so bad. Should have just… taken you. Right there.”

He pulled back and smirked at her, eyes shining and one brow quirked.

“Would’ve scarred Henry for life.”

She laughed and his smile grew wider, and she couldn’t stop herself from pressing her palms to his cheeks and rolling her thumbs just above the corners of his mouth, or staring into his eyes, or whispering the umpteenth, “I love you,” since they’d confessed their feelings the night before. Then they kissed, Emma’s head swaying to the side as Killian’s nose pressed into her cheek.

“I love you, too,” he said when their lips parted.

God, she would never get sick of hearing that.

He started to tilt her backward, his intent unmistakable, but she pressed her palms to his chest to halt his movements. It was not the least bit surprising to her that he immediately backed off, taking most of his weight off his hands and giving her space.

“You want to stop?”

“No,” she reassured him with a gentle, teasing smile, her tongue swiping out to wet her bottom lip. “But Killian… surely in _some_ of those fantasies of yours, there was…” She glanced down to his tented jeans, remembering how he felt in her hand, and inside of her, and now just thinking about taking him into her mouth was making her squirm and grind against the bed. “… _reciprocation_?”

It was almost comical, the way his eyes widened and brows rose high on his forehead, the way he audibly gulped.

“Aye,” he rumbled lowly, shifting so he was standing before her. “ _Many_ times, Swan.”

God, his fucking _voice_. Somehow it was smooth and rough all at once – a sexy, velvety growl. Emma recalled just what it had been like to only know the sound of his voice over the phone, how sometimes after their calls ended she’d lock herself in the bathroom and imagine what it would be like to hear him whisper filthy things to her, bringing herself to peak when he’d say, _‘Come, Emma. Come for me_.’ Or bringing her own fingers to her mouth as she imagined herself tasting him, hearing him groan loudly and mumble encouragements to her.

But this was real and happening, not some impeccably detailed daydream. He’d already let her ride him into oblivion, not to mention how he’d just given her an orgasm with his tongue that she was still recovering from. And now, _now_ she was going to get a taste of her own.

She shifted, tucking her legs beneath her and rising on her knees.

“You seem a bit high there, darling.”

“Be patient,” she said, her hands roaming his abdomen and sides as she nuzzled against his chest. She pressed soft kisses against him, his chest hair tickling her nose. “I promise I won’t leave you hanging.”

He refused to stay idle, running his hands along her arms and shoulders while she explored. It didn’t escape her notice that he grew more and more tense the longer she traced her fingernails over his bare skin, the bolder her attentions became, the more she flicked her tongue over his nipples and teased him. His hips continued to press forward, seeking friction and finding it against her stomach.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, Emma Swan.”

She grinned and decided to take pity on him, slowly lowering herself, kissing further down his torso until she was right at the waistband of his jeans. A quick nip right above his undone button made him jolt.

“The utter death of me…” he whispered, breaths ragged as she unzipped his half-done fly. His boxer briefs weren’t the least bit capable of containing his fully erect cock; the head was already peeking out from the waistband, and it made Emma’s mouth water – which was good, she figured, given the circumstances.

“Well at least try to survive. I kind of need you alive for this.”

He began to laugh but it devolved into a choked gasp when she laved over the tip, her nose buried in the hair on his abdomen. There was a tang over the salt of his precum and sweat, and she imagined it was her own taste lingering on him. It was kind of a turn on, mostly because she felt as if she’d staked her claim on him. He was entirely hers, heart and soul… and _body_.

Lips curling into a smile, she began to draw his pants and underwear down his hips, barely managing to avoid getting smacked in the face when his freed cock bobbed in front of her – she almost laughed at that, but then realized that being up close and personal was unexpectedly _intense_ – and then continued to pull them past his thighs until gravity took over and they pooled around his ankles. He quickly kicked them to the side.

Killian was naked in her room, being more intimate with her than she’d ever thought he’d be, and it was all she could do not to dive in like she’d been dying of thirst. She tried her best to control herself, using her hands to massage his legs and the soft, fleshy handles at his hips to help work him up while she teased kisses along his shaft. He hummed when the kisses became open-mouthed, when her tongue worked its way over the vein on the underside of his cock, the blood within it pulsing along with the quickened beat of his heart.

When she finally wrapped her lips around him, one of her hands encircling the base to direct him, he exhaled sharply and the muscles beneath her fingertips shuddered and tightened. Swirling her tongue up and over, she hummed around him and looked up through her lashes to see his face. It was contorted into an almost pained expression, his mouth agape and a sharp crease between his brows.

“Bloody _hell_ , love,” he gasped, watching her with a piercing gaze as she eased into a slow rhythm, bobbing her head and tilting it when her hair tumbled over her shoulders. “Y-your- _God_ … You know, I’ve always…” he choked out, taking a moment to breath deeply and to pull her hair back, curling his fingers around the strands to keep them out of her face and, she assumed, also to maintain some sort of control in the situation. It was actually rather flattering that Killian Jones, the man who’d written her so many exquisite letters over the years, was having trouble finding his words now. He managed to let out a single laugh, the beautiful sound full of rasp and a bit breathless, and continued to speak as her hand slid up his shaft to meet her lips before they parted again. “I’ve always thought it was lovely… Your- your mouth. Used to- ah… Used to stare at your picture… imagine what it would be like to kiss you. To have you kiss me. To have your pretty lips around me, just like this- _Fuck_ , Emma. So… so good. So…”

The sexy, low timbre of his voice coupled with those confessions and encouragements were making Emma’s hips writhe helplessly against nothing. She was leaning forward to give Killian head, focusing on breathing steadily through her nose as she took him deeper and deeper, glancing up periodically to watch him watch her. But she just _needed_.

So the hand she had gripping his thigh dropped to the bed. She shifted to steady herself and then, with his cock still heavy in her hand and smooth over her tongue, she reached down to touch herself, her fingers slick from her own arousal on the inside of her thighs before she even got there.

But at the first brush of her fingertips against her still sodden, sensitive sex, she had to pull away from him. She gasped loudly when his cock slipped from her mouth, a wet trail of saliva breaking off as she tried to keep her hand pumping over him. A whimper followed, her clit rolling between two of her fingers.

Killian’s eyes were darker than she’d ever seen, skin flushed from his ears all the way down his neck, his chest heaving and abdomen flexing. He released her hair and it tumbled down her back, and he slid his palm to her cheek, stroking his thumb delicately across her swollen bottom lip. His other hand went to her jaw, and she found the way he looked at her and gently cradled her face both arousing and romantic. The thin, red scab across her cheek from Walsh’s rage the day before was only a little sensitive, but it didn’t matter. Killian’s touch was gentle and reverent.

It looked like he was about to say something, his mouth opening slightly, but instead he just leaned down and kissed her, deeply and sensuously, his own jaw slack, their tongues gliding over each other, back and forth between each other’s mouths. Her hand’s movements over his arousal ceased and his mouth on hers became her singular focus.

Kissing was, in her experience, something that you just didn’t do well with someone the first time. First kisses, and sometimes second and third and fourth kisses, were usually awkward, stilted. You had to learn the rhythm of another person, learn how they gave and how they took. It wasn’t awkward with Killian. Not even a little; not their mind-blowing first kiss yesterday, and not now. It was like they naturally complemented each other, filling the empty spaces between them and fitting together like puzzle pieces.

Before she even had a chance to protest or react at all, his arms were around her waist and he was physically hauling her higher up on the bed. Her own arms flailed helplessly for a moment before they landed, along with her body, back to the mattress with a soft _fwump_ , her head cushioned by her pillow.

His mouth reconnected with hers after she’d barely managed a gasp of surprise – or arousal maybe; she couldn’t be sure – and she moaned unabashedly into his rough kiss, because suddenly it was just _more_. It was the heat of his naked body against hers from head to toe, their skin damp and sticky with sweat; it was the brush of his chest hair against her stiffened nipples, the weight of him pushing her into the bed, the feel of his silky smooth, achingly hard cock resting at the juncture of her thighs. It was overwhelming, being so completely surrounded by him, engulfed by the heady scent of sex and Killian.

And she was so strung out, so hot, so desperate, and she decided that she was not really beyond begging should he ever stop kissing her and let her speak. Not that she _wanted_ him to stop kissing her, _ever_.

She gripped at his shoulders while he sucked her tongue between his lips, massaging his tight muscles as she worked toward his neck. Her feet dragged against the backs of his calves and he rutted against her a few times, his hips shifting until the head of his cock was passing over her clit. Her nails dug into his flesh and she whimpered, rolling her own hips at the friction.

She could come, just like this. She could come, and she _would_ come if he kept that up.

His sloppy kisses migrated away from her lips and down to her jaw and she swallowed air back into her lungs. Panting, she turned and pressed her nose into his cheek, whispering his name and _please_.

“Gods above, Emma. I want… I want to make love to you properly… Like I’ve imagined so many times.” His teeth grazed her neck and she leaned into it, eyes closing. “But… I also just wanna fuck your bloody brains out.”

She burst into a fit of breathless giggles and he chuckled along with her. But when he rose on his elbows and stared down at her, she realized just how serious an admission it was. He was already on the edge, just as she was, and he wanted her so badly that he didn’t want to hold back.

Was it possible for her to get even wetter? Because she thought she might be. She’d never been so connected to another person, not like this. And she knew that he was it for her. She would never feel this way about anyone else – in her heart _or_ her body.

“Killian, I love you. And _this_ – this is no fantasy… You’re here and we’re together and I know we’ll have time to do this in every way… I’m never letting you go. You know that, right?” The look on his face was pure adoration, and she knew without asking that he felt the same. “So… screw proper love-making. Just hold me. That’s all I want.”

For a beat, he just silently looked at her face, tracing her features with his open, affectionate gaze. But then she felt him ease his weight onto his left arm by her side, and he drug his right hand down her side, quickly mapping her dips and curves before grabbing his cock and lining himself up.

“I love you, Emma. I always have and I always will.”

There was no resistance when he pushed into her, just the warm, slick glide of him filling her once again. Her body savored the intrusion, her walls clenching around him and her head thrown back in gratification. God, it was perfect. He only gave himself a moment’s pause to settle into the feeling before he hitched her leg against his hip, drew back, and _slammed_ right back home.

She felt no shame for the string of moans and pleasured sighs escaping her lips as he set a relentless, almost frenzied pace. Soon enough, the sounds became muffled against Killian’s lips, his coarse scruff undoubtedly leaving harsh red marks on her cheeks and chin as he thoroughly ravished her mouth. For a few hazy moments, it all became white noise – the wet slapping of their skin as he thrust into her, the smacking of their messy kisses, his grunts, her moans, their labored breathing. It all just melded together into the background, a dull buzz to the intense feeling of being connected.

They were so slippery with arousal and sweat that he slipped out of her a few times, their rhythm stuttering as he reached down to regain entry each time. She couldn’t help but chuckle – not in a teasing way, just in bliss, in the way they were obviously so desperate for one another that their movements were all so quick and chaotic. Eventually, he shifted onto his knees and lifted her up against his thighs, tightening his hold on her leg for leverage.

She planted one foot against the bed so that she could lift her hips to meet his and threw her head back, breaking from his kiss with a loud gasp as the angle hit her _just_ right, his cock grazing a spot inside of her that made colors dance behind her tightly closed eyelids, his pelvis striking her clit and exponentially increasing her pleasure. He was saying something to her but she couldn’t make it out. Was he even saying real words or just murmuring nonsense against her neck?

It didn’t seem to matter either way, because he must have decided that sucking a mark onto her collarbone was more important than whatever it was he was trying to tell her. His tongue was hot and his teeth sharp, and she was positive that she was scratching red lines against his shoulders while he nipped at the bruise he left on her.

They were both on the edge. Her own orgasm was so close but she could sense that Killian was closer, every muscle in his body rigid and trembling.

“-ma…” She focused on his gruff, pleasured voice in her ear. “Emma, please, _come_. I can’t- just… _Come_ , love.”

“ _Almost_ ,” she assured him, reaching one hand up to the headboard and pushing against it. He shook his head and she felt droplets of the sweat from the hair on his forehead hit her shoulder.

“Not ‘almost.’ _Now,_ ” he demanded hoarsely, then gently sunk his teeth into her earlobe as his body became taut and trembled while he just barely managed to delay his orgasm for a few fleeting seconds. And she obeyed.

His cock pulsated within her moments before she unraveled beneath him, shouting as her whole body shook from the force of her release. Her bottom lip was kiss-bitten and swollen, but her teeth sunk into it anyway, so hard that she thought she might bleed. Killian continued rutting weakly as he emptied himself inside of her, her walls ceaselessly clamping around him, their combined arousals trickling down the insides of her legs and onto the bed beneath them.

For minutes afterward, they couldn’t speak. They could barely move. He’d slipped out of her and collapsed to her side, his head resting on her chest and his shoulder and arm tossed over her waist, and she welcomed the weight despite the oppressive heat, her arms loosely wrapped around his shoulders. Their chests were both heaving as they caught their breath, and she swallowed several times to try and soothe her dry, aching throat.

When their breathing began to slow, she sighed and carded her fingers through his damp hair, relishing in the fact that this is how things would be now. ‘I love you’s and phenomenal sex and afterglow. Cuddling and kissing and lazy mornings in bed. None of her own fantasies had ever been quite so perfect.

“We should clean up,” she said softly, eyes drooping a little as post-coital fatigue hit.

He hummed in agreement. “I doubt anything but a shower will do at present. We’ve made quite the mess.”

“We’ll have to wash the bedding, too.”

“Worth it, love.” Her chest shook as she laughed and his head moved along with it. “A quick shower and then we’ll go get Henry, yes?”

“Sounds perfect.” She pressed her lips to the crown of his head and he burrowed closer, his leg hooking over hers. “I forgot to tell you… Mary Margaret texted you last night.”

“Did she? I forgot my phone yesterday afternoon.”

“I know,” she said, only feeling slightly guilty over kicking him out in the first place.

“Did you read it?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“She said Henry wanted to tell you he loved you and to wish you a good night…” She could feel his cheeks rounding against her skin and knew he was smiling. “And also something about… knowing things would work out between us. Because other than Henry, you’re the most important person in my life.”

He shifted up onto his elbow and looked down at her, his eyes open and honest and full of love. She could clearly see it now, that he’d looked at her like this from the very moment they met in the hallway in front of her apartment door. If only she’d been braver, they could have been like this so much sooner. But that didn’t matter now.

“I love you both more than anything in the world, you and Henry.” He reached up and grazed her cheek with the back of his knuckles before uncurling his fingers and gently placing his palm against her skin. “I’m glad I came. This… I had hoped, of course, but I hadn’t truly _expected_ … I had no idea that you felt the same about me as I for you.”

She tilted her head and kissed the heel of his palm, loosely grasping his wrist in her hand, then lingered with her lips for a few long moments while he continued.

“My fantasies, they weren’t all…” She turned back to him when he paused and he looked like he was struggling for words.

“Sexual?”

He didn’t nod or verbally agree, but his next words confirmed it. “I had so many that were just… normal. Sleeping with you in my arms. Having breakfast with you and Henry at the table. Making you hot cocoa, just the way you like. Sailing with you. Taking you on a date...”

“You know, except that last one, we’ve done all of those things since you came here.”

“Aye, but we did them as friends.”

“Well, apparently not.”

He grinned and she returned it.

“Perhaps, then… we might make that last one a reality, too?”

“Killian Jones,” she said, the smile pouring into her tone, “Are you asking me out?”

“Emma Swan,” he mimicked, teasing. But before he continued, his smile fell away and she was left staring at his earnest expression, his eyes full of hope and sincerity. “Will you go out with me?”

She nodded wordlessly and they both leaned toward each other, meeting in the middle with a soft kiss. When they pulled away, he didn’t go far, the tip of his nose still nudging the apple of her cheek.

“Leave it to us to spend over a decade as friends, then jump from first kiss to _this_ within the span of less than a day.”

“You won’t hear any complaints from me, love.”

“Nor me. Although… that shower is sounding like a pretty good idea right about now.”

He rolled to the side and pulled her along with him and she ended up sprawled across his chest while he lied on his back. His fingers brushed across her lower back with barely any pressure at all, just light little wisps of figure eights.

“One minute.” He sighed and pressed his lips to the crown of her head. “Just lay with me for one more minute.”

One minute became several more, but Emma found she didn’t really mind. There was no rush, and she really enjoyed listening to the beat of his heart beneath her ear and feeling his chest rise and fall. They’d clean up soon and then bring Henry home, and then…

Then, their new normal would begin.

**Author's Note:**

> Original plan didn't pan out, so SURPRISE this is actually gonna be five chapters instead of four. haha whoops. sorry not sorry.


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